


song-castle, attic-letter

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Date, Family, Love Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Before he decides to transfer to McKinley High, Sam writes an email. Kurt plays along.</p><p>(Note: The Kurt/Sam part of the story is complete in itself for this first part, but most of the background plot is left unresolved until the second (and final) part of the series :))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. setting the stage

**Author's Note:**

> easily? Was his castle  
> a work of craft  
> rather than art, we cannot  
> give value to our making,
> 
> \- The Sand-Castle, by Susan Stewart

Sam had never particularly loved boarding school, but he found himself reconsidering his feelings when his mom lost her job.

It wasn't _tragic_. Except now that his mom wasn't bringing home money, and Jenny was an artist and insofar couldn't be said to have a stable income, his boarding school tuition was too much to afford for their little household of three, even when they all pooled their combined savings together. So with the knowledge that he would be leaving all this behind, he enjoyed the last two weeks of boarding school before the summer break a lot more.

For Junior year, Sam would be going to public school.

He found out where he would be going to public school two weeks into July when his mother called in from the road with the good news.

"Lima, Ohio," she said. "I got a job at one of the elementary schools - a _private_ elementary school."

"Ohio?" Sam asked, staring at his poster-clad wall in horror. "That's like - the Midwest."

"So?" his mother sounded completely unperturbed. Actually, she sounded a little miffed that he wasn't jumping for joy at the news that she'd found a great job, and so soon.

"So nothing," he said, sullen even to his own ears.

"That's right. A little enthusiasm please, if you would. I hear it's a nice place to live."

"Or die," Sam muttered.

"Tell Jenny for me if you find a minute, will you? I couldn't reach her cell phone. I'll be home tomorrow, Sam. So be good."

"Christ," Sam said to himself, which was just as well because she had already hung up on him. "Ohio. I'm _dead_."

 

\- - - - -

 

He gave himself ten minutes of wallowing in self-pity before he threw his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way over to his computer. It was an older model, but he made do; he'd early on customized it to run smoothly despite its age.

He was also, or so he prided himself, a good researcher. He found most of what he needed to know about Lima, Ohio in a matter of half an hour. It was even worse than he'd thought: the place had _one_ openly gay hotspot, and maybe a handful secret underground clubs, but nothing major. Nothing like he'd found in New York City when he'd gone on a trip with friends a few months ago.

What did he even own a professionally-made fake ID for, when there were no fun clubs? He did another quick search on more mainstream bars and found that at least those were aplenty, so it would not be completely impossible to find a place to hang out.

Still, at that point, it started to dawn on him that the next years of high school would not be as easy on him and his honesty policy. But he wasn't even there yet, Sam reminded himself. There was no point in thinking ahead so far, not when nothing was certain just yet. He didn't even have a clue where he'd be going to school, much less whether they would really be moving to Lima.

He hoped not. He felt bad for thinking it, but deep inside he half-wished that his mom would get a call saying she hadn't gotten the job after all. That it was all a mix-up, so sorry, but the job wouldn't work out. Then they could all stay in New York together.

 

\- - - - -

 

Jenny was making dinner when he slipped into the kitchen that evening. She smiled at him with wrinkles around her mouth, taking in his devastated expression. Her eyes crinkled behind her glasses. "Decided to crawl out of your cave?" she asked and pointed at his seat by the table.

"That's _Batcave_ , to you," he corrected her. He let her tease a small smile out of him anyhow.

She laughed and handed him a plate for the crumbs. He usually let her get away with stuff he'd snap at his mom for, but he guessed that it wasn't unusual when your mom brought home a girlfriend when you were fourteen. And maybe there really was no other point of having three parents than to split them up: one to spoil him, one who got all parental with him, and one to be actual _friends_ with.

Besides, she'd taught him Klingon, which had made him the envy of all the boys at the boarding school for a few months. Resentment towards her for kicking out his dad could only go so far after that. (And Sam wasn't stupid; he knew all too well that his dad had needed to be kicked out. He was good at spoiling Sam, but he was also good at being spoilt, and even Sam knew that at a certain age it was time to man up and be an adult about things.)

"So tell me, how are you taking the news, then, Robin?" Jenny asked. She cut up his sandwich into the final triangles that he liked and placed the pieces on his plate.

"Cheese and ham?"

"And extra ketchup."

"Great, thanks." Pause. "And it sucks," he finally answered her first question. "I don't want to move."

Jenny sighed and took a huge bite out of her own sandwich. She had no qualms about talking with her mouth full. Sam could appreciate that, especially since he knew it drove his mom crazy. "I guess you don't really have to, now," Jenny murmured around the bread.

"What?"

"Well," she swallowed and pushed a strand of greying hair from her eyes, "with your mom's new job and all. I mean, I'll try to find a teaching job too, in Lima, when we move there. There's bound to be a few kids who'll want to learn how to play the piano, or the violin, or the guitar. Or the xylophone, if it comes down to it."

"Or maybe sing," Sam offered. "You could start a choir."

"I hear they're big on Glee clubs there. Maybe I could get a job as a Glee club director."

"Doesn't sound fun at all." Sam took another bite of his sandwich and thought about it. "You mean I could go back to boarding school now that there's steady money again?"

"Or you could come with us. Live in a proper house for a while, with your mom on hand to bust your ass for staying out late. I'd stand guard if you wanted to climb out of windows at night to meet your amour of choice."

"Yuck," Sam said. He made a face. "If I never have to hear you talk about booty calls again, it'll be too soon."

Jenny grinned. "Also, yes, I do have sex with your mom."

 

\- - - - -

 

Sam took counsel with his pillow. The next day, he headed out to the lake with the neighbour kids for a picnic and a swim, and when he came home he was too tired to do anything but curl up on the couch and watch TV until his mom came home.

She didn't push him to talk about it, which meant she'd already discussed it all with Jenny. He was glad they did that, even though it also rankled that they talked about him without consulting his opinion first-hand. Still, it meant not having to chew it all over _again_ , so maybe in the end it all turned out for the best.

On Wednesday he met a few of his boarding school friends who lived close by for action movies and ice cream, and then they went dancing in the evening. Only on Thursday did he finally get around to realizing that it could be like this all the time. There would be school in the mornings and other social activities. Sure, football probably, or maybe soccer. However, there would also be coming home for dinner with Jenny and his mom, and there would be heading out with friends in the evenings, meeting new people, having fun.

Boarding school, in comparison, was a lot like being stuck in small quarters with dozens of hormonal boys he by now considered his brothers. They never did anything new. All they did was wrestle for the last cupcakes from the kitchens, talk in broken, geeky Na'vi about Star Wars, play Final Fantasy on the PlayStation in the common room, or occasionally get each other off with handjobs when the tension got too much to bear.

Maybe he _wanted_ something new. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could find someone online who he could talk to before he had to move there, to get a feel for what it was like, what the boys and girls who lived there were like. There was still time to re-apply to boarding school; he had till mid-August. He had a month.

"Hey, mom?" he said, heading downstairs where the two women were sitting on the floor in the living room, sorting through socks and underwear they'd liberated from the dryer. He sat down next to them, ignoring their shared smile over his head.

"What's up?" Jenny asked, nudging his knee. "What have you been doing up in your room all day?"

"Thinking," Sam said, trying to sort out his boxer shorts as quickly as he could. He completely failed to hide his embarrassment at finding them in between lots of fun women's underwear.

"We noticed the wads of smoke rising over the house," his mom said. Not a muscle moved in her face, but Sam knew that this meant she was just trying very hard not to grin at him.

"Shuddup," he said. "I was thinking about the move."

"Ah."

"Yeah. And I figured - I still have till August to decide, right? If I wanted to go back to boarding school, I can still send my re-application in then."

"What about the public high schools in Lima?"

"They're public, _mom_ ," Sam rolled his eyes. "Anyone can go there. You can even show up a day beforehand to register."

"All right." His mom looked stumped by his change of heart. "What brought this on?"

Sam fought to keep the flush from climbing to his face. He forced himself not to look at Jenny. "I don't know what it's like, do I? I'm going to see if I can find some people on the internet who live in Lima. And if I find out that it's bearable, I might come with you."

His mom and Jenny exchanged another look, this time less of a smile, but still quite amused. They were completely unsubtle. Sam gathered all his underwear in his arms, gave them both a scowl, and stomped away.

"And anyway," he then said loudly from the door, "you guys need a man in the house to fix the plumbing. And stuff."

 

\- - - - -


	2. first faithful encounter

Kurt's summer, up to the day he received a strange email from an unknown account, had been unspectacular. He had spent a lot of time downtown, shopping for new shoes and looking through sales of the new fall collections. If Mercedes could not be bothered to join in, Quinn had an open ear. And if they were both off doing girl things to which Kurt, despite almost counting as a girl, was not invited, he went to visit Tina.

Tina was not as much into high fashion, but she definitely appreciated the manicures, the trading of make-up tips, or gossiping about her boyfriend of the day. At first, that was Artie. And then, when she broke up with Artie for being a horrible boyfriend, Mike Chang. Who had abs to _die_ for. Kurt didn't blame her at all for switching to a better model.

Most of the time, though, he helped his dad at the garage. Summer attracted the most customers every year. He knew how to do an oil-change, change tires, and he easily found his way around car mechanics, despite not always _wanting_ to. He did get some extra cash, too, for helping out, which meant he could splurge on Alexander McQueen or perfume for his girls, and for that, he could stand a few hours every day wearing horrible overalls and touching lube. (He figured he might as well get used to the latter sooner rather than later.)

But then, well into July on a Friday morning, he found an email in his mailbox from one Sam.Evans@gmail.com, which was not a name he'd ever heard before. Afterwards, he was glad he didn't immediately delete it as spam. It was, for the lack of a better word, _charming_.

 **from: Sam Evans (Sam.Evans@gmail.com)  
subject: greetings from NY (prospective student looking for help \o/)  
to: riffraff@thegarage.com**

 _Hi RiffRaff, I'm Sam (Sam I am)_ , the content started. Kurt snorted into his morning coffee. There was no one there to see the way his mouth curled up in a smile. If there had been, he might have pulled a face or even rolled his eyes.

 _I hope you don't mind, I found your email on your school's homepage for the Glee club. It listed you as one of the Glee leads? The other two emails were for girls and with this one I couldn't tell, but I didn't want to write the obvious girls because someone might think I'm a pervert and. I'm not._

 

Kurt almost burned his tongue on the coffee taking a gulp to keep his laughter in check.

The rest of the email continued along the same lines: introducing himself (boy, high school student from New York, attempting to figure out whether it was worth coming to McKinley). The Sam-I-Am also managed to smuggle in a few references to Lord of the Rings, the hotness of Matthew McConaughey's body, and that he loved music and his guitar (but not in the phallic way).

At the end of the email, Kurt had to admit that despite the fact that this guy sounded like a _humongous_ geek, there was something failingly adorable about him. And of course, he'd given his full name and his former school, which made it very easy to google him.

The picture that popped up on top of the search request was not one of the most flattering photos one could have taken of a boy in mid-action of the football field, but there was no question about the fact that Sam Evans from New York was breathtakingly gorgeous. Dirty-blonde hair, pouty lips, definitely more than just a little in shape. Kurt gaped at the picture in shock.

The door fell shut at his back as his dad stepped into the room. Kurt panicked, dove for the mouse and hastily clicked on the closing tab a few times, feeling himself flush to the roots of his hair.

"Ooookay, I don't know, I don't want to know, I'll just pass through to the kitchen, I was never here," his dad muttered under his breath, not looking at Kurt or the computer or _anywhere_ in his direction really, looking exactly as comfortable as Kurt felt.

"Ah." Kurt cleared his throat. "I wasn't - I was just - _it's eight in the morning_ , dad. And I have a computer _in my room_."

"I'm going to be in the garage all day," his dad said loudly, not listening at all. "If you need me. About anything at all. Or for a talk."

" _Dad_!" Kurt yelled after him.

 

\- - - - -

 

When his dad was gone, Kurt turned back to the screen and looked for more photos. It was pure curiosity, of course, nothing more. It was a successful search: he found a few pictures of Sam Evans that were an improvement over the football one.

They featured Sam's face a lot more. Or his abs. Almost Mike Chang-like abs. Kurt felt his stomach turn into molten heat staring at one particular photo that had no business being online, really, what with Sam being underage, wearing nothing but a tiny, stretched wife beater and running shorts. Kurt almost right-clicked to save, but then instead closed the window, feeling slightly weirded out by himself.

He also found an article about Sam Evans: the Great Quarterback, and read another one on Sam Evans: the Musical Prodigy who had a MySpace profile where he presented his lovely voice and his self-penned songs. Then Kurt hit the jackpot. He found one unprotected forum with pictures online, probably at Sam's boarding school: Sam hanging out with lots of other boys, grinning widely at the camera from at least a dozen different angles.

When he was done, a good hour of research later, Kurt took a deep breath, deleted his search history, switched the computer off and headed for the phone.

He changed his mind five minutes into Mercedes talking his ear off about family troubles and her parents making her do chores and her brother being an ass about everything. When she sighed and asked him what was up at his place, he found this strange, stinging feeling in the pit of his stomach. And then, instead of telling her about the email from the gorgeous boy he'd received this morning, he heard himself say, "Dad caught me looking at boys on the computer and thought I was checking out porn."

He smiled when Mercedes broke out into guffaws of laughter, infectious as always, ready to fist-bump him, or ask what sort of porn he'd found that was worth looking at. But inside his head, he wondered at himself. It was strange, but it seemed _important_ suddenly that this would stay his secret. That no one found out about this. Maybe when he wrote back - _if_ he wrote back – then maybe he could say something. But right now it was important that he could write whatever he wanted without anyone interfering.

There was already a plan forming in the back of his mind, and for a second he wondered whether he wasn't being a manipulative shit again, like with Finn - but then, this wasn't the same at all. This was different. He'd just smudge the facts a little. Get a feeling for what this guy was like. After all, he had no idea whether this guy was even real. It could be some creep taking a gorgeous kid's name. There was no point in giving his own name when he could just... play for a while.

Kurt nodded to himself and then winced when Mercedes started yelling at him that he wasn't even listening to her, why was he calling her if he didn't want to talk at all? He sighed and asked if she wanted to hang out tonight, watch some movies, maybe record some of their attempts at covering Celine Dion.

They could trade songs, he realized, and then pulled himself back from that ledge. He hadn't even written a single email yet. He had no idea whether this was some elaborate prank. He'd have to be very careful. For a moment he reconsidered involving Mercedes. She'd help. But she'd also question all of his executive decisions. She'd interfere with everything and tell him what to do and maybe even tell his dad, and Kurt really didn't need that.

He hung up on her after a quick good-bye. Then he went downstairs to his room for privacy and turned the computer on.

Maybe he'd tell his dad himself anyway. Soon. First, he'd just keep it to himself, just for a little while. He missed having a secret. He'd carried one with him for so long before coming out; he'd been feeling empty lately. Now it was almost a relief having something weigh on his mind again.

\- - - -


	3. Reprise I

**from: riffraff@thegarage.com  
subject: Re: Greetings from Lima-Losertown  
to: Sam Evans (Sam.Evans@gmail.com)**

 _Dear Sam,_

The reply started out like a diary entry or maybe a love letter. Sam found himself making silly faces at his computer screen. He hadn't realized how impatient he'd been for this last email to arrive. Now, Sunday morning, with it sitting in his account, there was a relieved lightness in his chest.

Riffraff had been his biggest hope for finding like-minded people after the other replies had arrived. Disheartened, he knew how it was now: for West High, he'd written the team captain of the football team who'd promptly replied with a cat macro that read ' _LOSER_ ' in big, bold letters. Lima High's Debate Team captain hadn't replied at all, beyond the generic ' _I'm on vacation till August, don't bother me_ ' message.

McKinley High had been the only of the three high schools with a Glee club. Jenny had apparently been overenthusiastic with her assumption of the popularity of Glee clubs in the Mid-West. Even McKinley's Glee club was desperate for members, if the glittery font on their front page was to be believed.

 _I'm not at all averse to sharing my vast knowledge about Lima, Ohio with you, of course. But you seem like a nice person, so I'll be honest: it's a bit of a feat to survive public high school in this town without slushies of every flavour on your best Allsaints outfit._

Sam blinked.

 _On the other hand, you might be someone with an appreciation for bullies who shove kids into lockers. Or you're an avid watcher of Sue's Corner. In which case, I reckon, you've found your paradise. Not that Sue Sylvester is all bad, mind; she's a great coach, but she also sneaks laxatives in our energy drinks when we're not looking, which is not so fun._

Sam rubbed his nose. He'd always liked Sue's Corner. It was a big hit on the internet and he'd watched it in the solid confidence that she was somewhat of a female Stephen Colbert. He squinted. Could he have been wrong about that one?

 _I exaggerate, of course. It's not all bad. We will be going to New York City this year for Nationals (I'm sure you've been there, living close as you do, but it's still an adventure, am I right?). And when you're popular and confident and a great singer, like me, you can generally assume that you will turn out fine. I'm the best singer and pretty much the male lead of our Glee club. It's a lot of fun. We're always looking for new members, so you'd be very welcome._

 _But to get back to your initial request: you asked about Lima City, and McKinley High in particular. If you want information, you should probably ask specific questions. I'm not sure if I'll have time to answer lots of them. I am a man of many talents and very busy fixing cars this summer (I'm a menace with a screwdriver!). But I'll make you a deal: you can record me a song or two. New ones. And if they're any good, I'll be inclined to be more wordy._

Sam smiled. He wasn't sure why, because the email could have sounded obnoxious and arrogant, but there was a strange self-deprecating tone about it that made it sound almost ironic, and he already knew he _liked_ the guy for that. He scrolled a few lines further down, but there was no greeting, no send-off or name attached to the email. Just the offer and some blank space.

Not a huge problem, though, now that he had the information he needed. The Glee page was a horror to navigate, with the pink background and the glittery font, but there was a picture section with photos from last school year's Regionals hidden at the end of the rainbow. Most of them were of a single person - a pretty, dark-haired girl - but there was one group photo of the whole club too, girls and boys in lovely dresses and suits. Sam was happy to see how diverse the club was, that, if he chose to join them, he would not stand out so much, even as a new kid, with them at his back.

In the front, right next to the familiar dark-haired girl, standing center-stage, was a tall boy, nice-looking and athletic, obviously the lead. Sam grinned. That had been almost too easy. He re-opened his email account to point it out at once, pressed the 'Reply' button - and then closed it again. No, he reconsidered. He wouldn't ask, wouldn't push. Riffraff would tell him in his own time, when he was ready. In the meantime, Sam had a few songs to record. And if he imagined the handsome face before his eyes while he sang, surely nothing bad could come of it.

 

\- - - - -

 

Every Sunday morning, Sam's mom and Jenny went to church downtown. It had left Sam with breakfast duty ever since he'd decided he didn't want to join them anymore, as far back as his first year at boarding school.

Sam had barely finished setting the table when the doorbell rang and they got back. It was eleven. He wasn't a spectacular cook, but he could put together toast and buns and cold cuts and butter and the cereal. It was something of a tradition by now whenever he was at home, and he could imagine doing this more often, every Sunday even, sitting at the round dinner table with Jenny crunching on her toast and his mom taking apart a hard-boiled Sunday egg. The thought made his chest turn warm and happy.

"Any progress with your blind date thing?" his mom asked him, catching him off-guard just as he was taking a sip of his coffee.

He spluttered. "My what?"

"You were trying to find a kid from Lima to feel out the situation there, right?"

"Oh. That. Yes. This morning, actually, I got an email back. It was nice. He's the lead of his Glee club. He said he wants to hear me sing."

His mom smiled into her spoonful of egg.

"What?" Sam asked her, narrowing his eyes.

"You could try the new arrangement I've put down for the piano," Jenny offered, drawing his attention. "You gave me those lyrics a while back, remember? I figured out what we can do with them."

"Will it work for the guitar?"

"It could, theoretically, but I have a feeling piano will sound smoother in this particular case. We'll set up the recording later, if you don't have any plans?"

"Cool, okay. No, I'm free." He waited a second, sneaking glances at the two women, before he gathered his courage. "I wanted to ask - are we going to drive down sometime?"

"Where?"

"To _Lima_ ," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Mom, keep up."

She gave him a frown, but ignored the drawl in his voice and nodded. "I guess we'll have to, in a week or two. Since the teaching position is a long-term one, we've been looking at houses online, but the only places in our price range need to be looked at properly. We should anyway, especially if we want to buy."

Sam swallowed. "You'll be selling the apartment?"

Jenny gave him a little look and his mom's face looked pained, but she nodded. "We'll have to. There's no way we'll be able to upkeep, and without anyone living here it would be a waste of money."

Sam put his bun back down. He suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. "Right. I'll go up to my room, if that's okay?"

His mom gave him a pitying look that he really hated. But she only said, "Sure, go ahead," and let him bolt.

He didn't stay back to listen to them whisper about whatever it was they were whispering about; he just stomped up the stairs and through the door and laid down on his bed, getting his mp3-player so he could mope over his "Sad Songs For All Occasions" Playlist.

 

\- - - - -

 

When he made his way back to the living room a few hours later, his mom was gone and Jenny was practicing on the piano. Beethoven, he recognized, 9th symphony. She usually preferred Chopin for her classical pieces, but apparently it was a Beethoven day.

"How about we do Gaga's 'Speechless'?" he asked, mouth quirking when she tilted her head backwards to look at him upside-down.

The music stopped. "Wonderful idea." She was smiling back at him, curious. When he came closer, she asked, "This is not the first apartment you lived in, is it?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't remember about a lot earlier, but I do know we moved when I was seven or so, and then again when I turned eleven? But we've been living here since then. It's been over five years." He shrugged, pushing his hands in his pockets. "I just don't like change, I guess."

Jenny played the beginning tact of the Moonlight Sonata, and stopped again. "You've never lived in a proper house, though, right?"

"Don't think so. Not unless we did when I was very little." Sam pulled up a seat and sat down next to her by the piano. Her fingers were long and slim, bird-like especially when compared to his. "I remember this -"

"- of course you do," she grinned, pushing her glasses up her nose.

He continued the Moonlight Sonata for half a minute before he gave up, grimacing. "I need to practice more."

"That, you do, my dear." Jenny touched his wrist gently and then his cheek. "It'll be okay. We'll find something nice. You can come with us when we go. Pick the house you like best. Maybe with a big yard in the back. So we can put up a swing for you, and a sandbox."

Sam pushed her hand away, snorting. "Shut up. A barbecue would be nice, though."

"It would." Jenny sighed. "And a fireplace. A fireplace would be very nice." She gave him a little smile from the corner of her eye. "Come, now. E, C, and A, and go -"

Sam gave a laugh as she started playing 'Speechless', and then joined in on the cue,

 _I can’t believe, what you said to me  
Last night we were alone  
You threw your hands up  
Baby you gave up, you gave up_

 

\- - - - -


	4. Reprise II

**from: Sam Evans (Sam.Evans@gmail.com)  
subject: recordings from yours truly  
to: riffraff@thegarage.com**

 _I wish I had a name to address you with :)_

 _I'm sending you the requested recordings. Ones you won't find on my MySpace, since I assume you've already listened to those. In return, I would ask to hear your voice, too! But not sent by email. My cell phone number is listed at the bottom. Record a song on my mailbox? Any song will be fine. I'm looking forward to it!_

 _Since you also said I could ask information, I would love it if you could tell me about the teachers at your school, and what other clubs or things you can join or do._

Kurt glanced around whether anyone was watching over his shoulder - and when he saw no one was paying any attention to him, he opened the attachment and unzipped it. There were three files inside, mp3s. One was titled, ' _Lord Queen_ '. Kurt's lips trembled with a suppressed smile.

The library was almost deserted during lunch time. He'd snuck away under pretence of needing a bathroom break to go online; he'd been studying for his SATs with Mercedes and Quinn for _hours_ now, without a single break, and he honestly couldn't take their friendly bickering about sentence completion and grammatical structuring anymore. The SATs were months away. There was no need to torture him so when they could have been out shopping instead.

He had not expected there to be a reply waiting for him from Sam, but when he'd seen it sitting in his mailbox, his stomach had tightened with pleasant heat.

Kurt glanced around once more, but the only person nearby was a college girl working a few computers away, so he took his ear buds from his pocket and plugged them into the computer, double-clicking the file. The other two read, ' _If I were a Werewolf, I wouldn't be such a tool_ ' and ' _Sleeping Beauty would have had a lot more fun with an Inception device at hand_ '. Kurt covered his mouth to keep in a laugh. He wasn't so well-versed in cultural references as these, but even he got it.

When the first chords of ' _Speechless_ ' rang out, all his worst fears (and brazen hopes) were realized. His face heated in anticipation and he bopped his head along to the voice hitting one tone after the next, impeccable and downright filthy - though not, Kurt decided firmly, quite up to Gaga's genius just yet.

'Speechless' ended and he was just about to click on the Werewolf file when a hand landed on his shoulder. "Kurt!"

Kurt jumped, ripping the earphones off. "What?" he snapped. When Quinn winced, falling a step back, he immediately felt guilty. "Jesus, don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry." Quinn didn't sound sorry at all. She was glancing over his shoulder at the email. "We wondered where you'd vanished to."

"Just checking my emails," Kurt said, turning around in his seat to minimize the window. He cleared his throat.

Quinn watched him for a few seconds without a word, scanning his face, then a grin spread across her face. "You're hiding something."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You're getting defensive!" A blink later, she was scrambling for the mouse, clicking before he could react, and by the time he'd slapped away her hand, music was blasting from the tiny headphones. Sam's voice sounded good even with the bad acoustics, though the words were hardly distinguishable.

"Who's that?" Quinn asked, still grinning, at the same time rubbing her hand where Kurt had managed to smack her. "Oh my Go- Kurt, do you have a boyfriend? Is he a singer? Is he from around here? Who is it? Do I know him?"

"No, he's not - no, Quinn, shush, shut up!"

"You _have_ to tell Mercedes," Quinn whispered at him, staring into his eyes, flushed and excited. "She'll _kill_ me if she finds out that I knew before her!"

"He's not my boyfriend," Kurt protested. "He's just a guy."

"Who's just a guy?" Mercedes was standing behind them, hands on her hips. Kurt and Quinn whipped around, looking guilty. "What's going on here? I thought we were studying. And who's that singing? Nice pipes."

"Kurt's got a _boyfriend_ ," Quinn teased.

"I do not!" Kurt decisively shut down the program playing the music, grabbed his earphones and then closed the browser too, just in case one of them got the idea to snoop around in his emails. "I was just telling her. He's a guy who's sent me a few songs of his. No big deal."

"Uh-oh," Mercedes said and went to stand by Quinn's side, grasping her hand. The girls exchanged huge smirks, then they turned to Kurt, who was starting to feel scared of the intent looks on their faces. "Have you sent him your two-hundred recordings ranging from Celine Dion to your rendition of 'Think of Me'?"

"No. I _haven't_!"

"But you're planning to."

"I'm not."

Kurt crossed his arms in front of his chest and rose from his chair. "I'll be going back to the books now. To study. Like we planned."

"But Kurt -"

"Shhhhh," the girl from the other computer hissed, turning to them to glare. "Shut up."

All three of them colored, embarrassed.

"This is not over," Mercedes threatened him in a whisper. Quinn glanced at the computer with a speculative look in her eye, like she was planning something. Kurt dreaded to think. There was a reason he hadn't wanted anyone involved in this.

"It's so over," he told them and marched back towards their study cubicle.

 

\- - - - -

 

Sam had to be the real Sam, Kurt decided. He had sent his phone number, after all. A real one. Of course, Kurt didn't know for _sure_ that it belonged to the Sam he'd found on the internet, but there was one certain way to find out.

He had the perfect song as well, had been practicing it for days now so he could win the next karaoke competition the whole Glee club had been planning for the weekend. It had been Rachel's idea, but everyone had been on fire picking out songs and getting ready. It would be the second karaoke night this summer already. The last one had been a blast; they'd met in a little bar downtown where they'd gotten free (non-alcoholic) drinks for the rest of the evening because they'd attracted so many customers with their singing.

Kurt wasn't quite sure about the logistics, though, until he arrived home on Tuesday in the evening from a hard day's work at his dad's garage and realized that the easiest would be to just put his phone on the piano and do the same thing Sam had done: play, and sing his heart out.

 _[I took my love, i took it down](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPc5YCBz9LQ)  
climbed a mountain and i turned around  
and i saw my reflection in the snow covered hills  
'til the landslide brought it down  
oh, mirror in the sky _

 

He was just finishing the last verse when he heard the footsteps behind him. The mailbox of Sam's phone had long clicked, full, but he'd wanted to finish it anyway, hoping some of the determination would carry through despite the fact that it hadn't fitted completely.

When the last notes echoed into the air, dissipating, his dad clapped a few times in applause. "That was beautiful," he said, coming over to ruffle Kurt's hair. If he noticed Kurt switching off his phone and pocketing it, he didn't comment. "I knew paying for those lessons would pay off one day."

"Daaad," Kurt groaned, rearranging his hair so it would lie perfectly once more. Then he just sighed in defeat. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. You know, if you would play and sing songs like that more often, instead of those show tunes you like so much, I wouldn't mind sitting on the couch and listenin'." His dad poked at his back and then made his way to the kitchen. "What are we doing about dinner today?"

"I'm not going to cook," Kurt announced, tapping the beginning chords of Sam's werewolf song onto the ivories as well as he could remember. "I'm too tired. Can we get pizza?"

"Pizza it is," his dad agreed. Once he was done dialing the delivery service, he let himself fall into the couch with a groan. He waved his hand towards Kurt. "Keep playing that from before. That was good."

Kurt snorted and watched as he stretched out over the length of it, smiling tenderly. When his dad was comfortable, he turned to the piano and started playing another Fleetwood song, 'Sugar Daddy', with a twist of irony to his fingers, smiling. He played the Beatles too, and then a minute of Chopin because his mom had always loved Chopin (one of the few things he knew about her); when he'd been younger, he'd found a stack of sheet music with hand-written notes all over them, and he hadn't stopped until he could play them all.

When he was done, Kurt got up and walked over to the couch.

"Hey, Dad?" he asked.

His dad opened one eye and pulled his legs closer to his body, making space for Kurt to sit down. Kurt did, tapping his dad's ankle, and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth -

\- and the doorbell rang.

Kurt closed his mouth again and swallowed.

Honestly, he had no idea what he'd wanted to ask anyway. "I'll go get the pizza," he said instead. He didn't wonder at all, not even in the back of his mind, when Sam would check his mailbox. Or whether he would call back, now that he had Kurt's number.

 

\- - - - -


	5. Evolution

On Wednesday, Sam deleted all the recorded messages from his mailbox by accident.

He didn't mean to, but his mom and Jenny had left a few hours ago for an educational theory conference in Pittsburgh, and his mom had since then not stopped leaving him message upon message, driving him crazy with her overprotectiveness (and fear that he'd burn the house down if left to his own boredom).

He'd pressed delete, delete, delete and of course he'd only noticed afterwards that he'd deleted _all_ new messages, not just the ones from his mom.

His caller history showed one unknown number. It was Thursday, and he'd only just now noticed.

Sam stared at the number for a while. He didn't know whether it was Riffraff's number. (Finn's number, really; he'd found out Finn's name by now, might as well call rose by its name.)

It could have been anyone. But it could be him.

A minute passed, and another one. Then Sam swallowed and put the phone to his ear, pressing dial. It rang once, twice. Three, four, over and over until it clicked, disconnecting.

Sam groaned, grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his head, taking a deep breath. He had no idea why he was feeling this way, like he was calling someone up to be his prom date or something equally stupid. It was just a strange guy. They'd never even talked. It was ridiculous to be so excited about someone he'd never met, and who he'd only written a few emails with.

He picked the phone back up and pressed a few buttons. Fine, he decided. Maybe this was better anyway.

 _This's Sam I hope this is Riffraf's nr? If n -syr! If y- i deleted ur call by incident. sry! txt me if u find a mil? that would b awesom! Sam_

He sent it off before he could talk himself out of it. Then he got out of bed, threw the phone on his desk and decided to spend the day productively. After all, there were other things he could be doing besides lazying around. Since none of his roleplaying friends were online, he opened a document that was titled "Sam's SpaceOprah" and started typing.

 

\- - - - -

 

Sam's phone gave a short jazzy tune half an hour into a very important paragraph in which Spaceship Commander Sullivan was fighting his way out of a precarious alien pirate attack. Sam grabbed it immediately, popping the message open.

 __

 _Dear Sam, thank you for the confession. Don't worry, I am fine. It was just a Grammy-worthy performance, after all. I will barely suffer the loss. Brb, crying forever._

The phone buzzed, notifying him about another incoming message:

 _I am afraid I cannot re-record it now for you, as I am out shopping. Maybe later? What are you doing?_

Sam had wondered if he'd slip up, but no. There was, again, no signature. He glanced at his Word document, then back at the phone. What the hell, he then decided. His concentration was shot to hell now anyway.

 _god 2 here from u,man! so sry gain 4 deleting u. Def later! :) Am righting nxt Great American Novel. What ru shopin4? Sam_

The reply came almost instantly.

 _Trucks. And beer. Dude. Seems fitting that the next Great American Novel would be typed in txtspk. Much LOL._

Sam almost wrote _rofl_ back, but restrained himself. Instead, he abandoned the computer completely and laid down on his bed with the phone in hand. This, he had a vague feeling, would turn out to be a longer conversation. He didn't mind at all, especially not the static buzz burning low in his stomach.

 _no idea what ur talkin boot :P beers good! how ru shipping 4 trucks? send px?_

Two minutes later, the photograph Sam opened on his phone was clearly taken inside of a mall. There was a little toy truck held by what was a very female hand, tiny fingers with red nailpolish and manicured fingernails. For a horrible second, Sam's body ran hot and cold. His ears burned, both embarrassed and angry that he'd been had on, that someone would do something like this - but then the next text message buzzed in.

 __

 _Dorothys frenemy here, telling u2quit dancing round the fact that u wanna make sweet sweet love 2my gay. I c what ur doing there._

Sam's first impulse was to laugh. It turned out more like a cough, because he was never this lucky, ever.

On the other hand, he'd written the lead singer of a _Glee club_. So maybe it wasn't compeletely untrue what they said about boys who liked singing and dancing and oh, other boys. His heart beat fast and hard as he considered what to reply. He didn't even know whether he was texting the girl still, or whether Finn had his phone back -

 __

 _I don't know what she wrote, but whatever it was, it was a filthy, ugly lie and she is going to burn in the hell she so strongly believes in._

Sam grinned at his phone. Then he realized he was _grinning_ at _his phone_. He flopped onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, cheeks aflame. His fingertips were tingling. His hips rocked down and then the new friction was causing a wholly different, far more pleasant problem. Sam stopped himself. So, _so_ not appropriate.

At least not while he was still texting. But maybe after. He took up the phone again and forced himself to concentrate on writing the reply, ready to give this one up in favor of jerking off. His erection was pressing half-hard into the mattress.

 __

 _no worrees it wasnt notting bad :) i gottago now. will right more leyter, tough!_

He sent it off, and, as expected, there was no immediate reply. He let the phone fall to the floor. His hand was already slipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

 

\- - - - -

 

A few hours later, Sam's phone buzzed. The message contained a photo of legs in particularly shiny knee-high boots over a pair of tight skinny jeans. Sam stared at the photograph, puzzled. Then he smiled.

That night, he photographed his wriggling toes and pressed to send. The next morning, when he checked, the newest message read,

 _Hobbit-feet! :)_

 

\- - - - -

 

By Saturday, they were texting back and forth semi-regularly. Mid-morning, Sam received a picture of slender, elegant hands on a piano. He was a little sad that his friend had not yet sent another recording of a song, but he would take what he could get.

In the evening, Sam took a picture of his upper arm, bulging his muscle, and sent it back.

He immediately got a reply that said:

 __

 _Uh oh, careful there, Arnold. I'm going to get jealous and/or fall madly in love with your muscled frame._

A blink later, a second message arrived.

 __

 _And then I'll meet you in person and your horrible personality will break my heart :( (Would you let me get married, at least?)_

Sam choked out a bout of laughter.

 __

 _that hapens 2u a lot, does it?_

 _More often than you'd believe._

So they weren't even pretending that they were straight. That was... refreshing. Sam couldn't quite figure out what was happening, whether they were flirting? He'd never done this before. He stared at the lightened display of his phone and wondered how to react. Whether he should encourage it, or wait until they'd meet to judge better. He finally decided on something in between.

 __

 _im sry abot that. hope u wont b dispointed when we meet 1 day. bed now tough! nite!_

He received a quick good night back, but nothing more. He wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed.

 

\- - - - -

 

Sunday morning, Sam received a photo of a mussed head of hair, standing up at all angles. The picture cut off at the forehead. Sam had no idea why they were still playing this game, but he took a close-up of his right eyelash, sending it back. A few hours later, there was a photo of an ear, to which he replied with his a photo of his navel, laughing breathlessly as he took it.

 

In the evening, Jenny and his mom came home. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich while they bustled around, unpacking, talking about their trip, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a simple text this time.

 __

 _I wasn't attempting to encourage nudity, Sam. Nice abs, btw._

Sam flushed.

His mom cleared her throat. "Good news?" she asked. She'd stopped in the middle of a sentence, talking about a professor she'd met, and was looking at him curiously.

"Y-yeah," Sam said. He fought very hard to keep his face straight and not break out into a grin that would be a dead giveaway. "Just the kid I found, you know. From Lima."

"What's his name?" Jenny asked.

Sam licked his lips. "Finn."

"Talking about Lima," his mom said, moving the conversation away from Sam and his mystery connection, which suited Sam very well. "We figured we'd fly down Saturday to look at a few of the properties. It's just a two hour flight, and we can rent a car. The school principal and some of the board members wanted to meet with me, so they're financing me and one companion. We can spring for an extra flight for you. We wouldn't want to choose anything you don't like."

Sam's heartbeat quickened. "This weekend already?" he asked, surprised.

"You've got better things to do?" his mom teased.

"No. No, I was just surprised, I didn't think it'd be so soon."

"School starts back up beginning of September," his mom reminded him. "We have barely a month left to buy a house, move in, get settled. It's not much. We were hoping to maybe get a good offer Saturday already, get the papers, let the lawyers look it over."

This time, the sensation in his chest had nothing to do with cute boys. "Have - have you found someone for the apartment already?"

"No," his mom said quickly. "That's the least of our worries right now. It wouldn't be prudent to sell immediately anyway, at least not until we're fully moved. Then we can start looking for potential buyers."

"Okay."

Jenny was tinkering with some glasses in the background, making drinks, juice or tea, but she must have noticed something on his face because she came over and patted his arm. "You can still decide to go back to boarding school, Sam. Maybe some stability will be nice after all; there's no rush. You could come live in the house in Senior year, if you felt up to it then."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, nodding. "That's true. But - I'd like to come with this weekend, if that's okay? Do you have the house options printed out so I can see?"

"Sure. They're in a folder by the computer in my room," his mom said.

"When will be coming back?"

Jenny and his mom exchanged a look. "We haven't decided yet," his mom told him. "We were waiting for your decision. We could stay overnight, if you wanted to spend some more time there. Maybe you could meet up with the Finn boy, if he's up to that. We'll book a room somewhere, that shouldn't be hard. It's not like Lima's a tourist hot spot."

Sam snorted. "Certainly not," he said. The phone in his hand felt hot, burning with the need to text right away, asking Riffraff if they could meet, if he could maybe meet the mysterious girl friend from the shopping trip, too, and even some of the Glee club kids. And, of course, to see if they'd get along as well as they did right now. If the easy flirting would keep up. He didn't want to think too far, but...

"All right, this all sounds good," he told the two women and squeezed the phone harder. "We can all go together."

"We'll have a lot of fun," his mom promised.

"And don't be too disappointed even if it turns out Finn doesn't want to meet you after all," Jenny reminded him. "I'm sure it's different, being phone buddies, or meeting someone you've never seen before like that. You shouldn't blame him too much if he backtracks."

Sam hoped that wouldn't happen, but he didn't say that. He just nodded and put the phone down, loosening his fingers from their cramped grip around it. "Tell me more abour your trip now?" he asked. "How was Pittsburgh? Did you get to meet your friends, Jenny?"

So Jenny started to talk, and Sam hardly ever glanced at the phone, at least until he was back up in his room later that night, and replied:

 __

 _tx. chek ur mail, plz? need quck repli!_

 

\- - - - -


	6. Narrower

**from: Sam Evans (Sam.Evans@gmail.com)  
subject: coming to Lima!!!  
to: riffraff@thegarage.com**

 _Hello mystery man :D_

 _I want to prevent any sort of misunderstanding so I am writing you an email again. I have been told my texts resemble hieroglyphs from Egypt. And I wouldn't want there to be any misunderstandings._

 _So what it says in the subject basically? I'm coming to Lima this weekend. We're looking for a house to buy. If you know any cheap mansions, let me know? ;) But more important, I would like to meet with you. And friends, if you would feel more comfortable in company. We will be staying Sat-Sun overnight, so Sat evening would be best.  
Let me know._

 _Sam._

 

The email was short and sweet and without any of the horrendous spelling mistakes that Sam's texts consisted of. At this point, Kurt almost figured Sam was misspelling things in texts on purpose.

But that barely held significance. Much more important, Kurt thought as he re-read the email, was the fact that Sam apparently wanted to meet up. Next weekend. On Saturday, to be precise.

Writing emails and texts, that was different. This would let the whole charade go up. For a moment, Kurt wished Sam had heard his recording. He'd chickened out when Sam had told him he'd accidentally deleted it; he hadn't been sure whether Sam was lying or what. Maybe he'd hated it. Maybe he thought Kurt was weird.

But he'd written Kurt again, after that, and replied to all the texts. He seemed genuine, that was the problem. And Kurt... maybe wasn't. He wasn't stupid, he knew the preconceptions he'd laid with some of his replies, especially lately.

 

It took Kurt a whole day to gather his courage to head over to Quinn's place. He felt even worse for cutting off Mercedes from this; but she didn't know about Sam. Quinn mightn't _know_ , but she'd guessed a lot of the story when she'd stolen his phone on their last shopping spree and read through Sam's texts.

And when Kurt, a short while later, sat on Quinn's bed in her room while she sketched profiles of him for her art classes that she'd started to take over the summer, he realized that she wasn't judging.

"I think you're being silly," she told him pleasantly, and made a clucking sound when he moved. "Keep your chin up, Kurt. You'll look like a double-chinned baby panda if you don't."

"I do not look like a baby panda, double-chinned or not!" Kurt exclaimed, but he did chin up. Her stare was evil.

"What's-his-name, Sam? Obviously likes you. And there's no way you managed to hide your personality. You have far too much of it for that sort of deception. If he hasn't realized by now that you're a girly-faced fairy, he must have some sort of mental deficiency."

"His singing's nice, though," Kurt offered.

"And his penis, I bet," Quinn giggled and then cursed and grasped for the eraser. Kurt was very glad about that. He did not have a hook like that for a nose, thank you very much.

"I hate that you confronted him with his latent sexual urges towards me," Kurt said when she was back on the right track. "He sent me a picture of his abs, and now there's no way I'll be able to say no to anything he asks."

"I think that's fine," Quinn said. She held up the finished drawing, proud. It was, Kurt judged, quite all right. For a first draft.

"It needs work," he said honestly, "but it's better than I thought it would be."

"Yay!" Quinn cheered. "But about Sam - just invite him to karaoke on Saturday? Rachel's organized it again for the weekend. Ah. You forgot all about that, didn't you?"

Kurt sniffed. "I did not."

"You totally did. Invite him. We can all meet him. Mercedes can meet him, seize him up, eat him for breakfast if at all necessary. And if he turns out to be an asshole about the thing where you're not the way he expected you, well. I'll make sure to wear extra long fingernails so I can, hypothetically, scratch his eyes out." Quinn smiled sunnily.

Kurt smiled back. Inside, he was hoping fervently that it wouldn't be necessary; that Sam would turn out to be a great guy, that they'd sing a duet together, maybe, and fall in love under the sparkling limelights of the dim café bar.

 

\- - - - -

 

 _Dear Sam. You're cordially invited to join my friends and I in Eureka on Saturday for karaoking. Be there around 7pm for dinner first._

 

With a touch of concern that this message might sound distant and unfriendly, Kurt added,

 

 _Looking forward to seeing you. Hope you can make it :)_

 

And then, waiting was all he could do.

 

\- - - - -


	7. a meeting, alas

The first house they saw was beautiful - spacious and well lit, with big windows and a little garden out back. Sadly, the owner was unwilling to lower the price to their maximum possible rate, so they had to move on. Sam was disappointed to have to leave. The second and third house turned out nice, but a lot more upsetting: the moment the realtors figured out Jenny wasn't just a partner, but _that_ sort of partner, it was either, "Sorry but we're looking for something else for this neighborhood," or, as the second guy said straight-up, in a rather hostile tone of voice, "I wouldn't insist, if I were you. This is not that sort of district. You wouldn't want to cause any trouble."

The fourth house was a dump. The old grandfather clock chimed past five while they were inside, and Sam was exhausted just looking around. The ceilings were leaky; the floorboards creaked, moldy and broken in places. The previous owner hadn't taken care of it at all, an old lady in her eighties, unable to look after herself, much less a house. The pigeons had nested in the attic. There were rats scurrying around in the walls and pipes.

"I did wonder why it was listed so cheaply," his mom said when she climbed back behind the wheel. "It would have been a catch if it had been repairable."

Jenny snorted. "Not this place. All this is good for is tearing down. I doubt they'll find any buyers."

Sam leaned against the backrest and closed his eyes. "The first one was really nice," he said slowly.

"We know," his mom sighed. "We liked it too. But we can't afford to go over our budget like that."

Sam grumbled. Still, he understood. "How many more are there?" His phone showed no new messages. There had been one, this morning, wishing Sam a good flight and good luck house hunting. They had been messaging back and forth all week. Sam couldn't help but feel let down that there was no word now.

"Just the one," Jenny replied to his question. "It's pretty cheap too, compared to the standard going rate. It's not looking good for us if this one turns out a dump as well."

"So what do we do if we don't find anything today?"

"The motel we're booked at has an internet connection and I have the number of another realtor who deals in property. Maybe we'll be able to find another offer or two. We still have a few hours tomorrow before our flight leaves."

They drove ten minutes through town traffic until they were almost out of the district. Sam had the printout; they were meeting the owner himself before the house. The map said it was a little outside of the town center. It was described as a single property, with a big garden, situated right by a park. It looked nice on the picture.

It still looked nice when they approached it by car finally, just like advertised; the street was quiet, lined with trees, well trimmed yards out front. There were a few brick houses, a handful of modern buildings. They passed a boy shooting hoops by his garage, and a few smaller children on bikes.

The owner was already there when they got out of the car. He was a middle-aged man, bald, tall, had probably been handsome in his youth. He looked nervous. His eyes squirreled back and forth between Jenny and his mom and Sam, back and forth, back and forth. It gave him an almost creepy quality, even though he didn't seem to mean to. Maybe, Sam thought, he had an eye thing.

"Hello," Jenny said in greeting when they reached him, all three stopping at the bottom of the front steps. His mom smiled, and Sam followed suit, waving the printout in a short salute.

"I'm Karen, we spoke on the phone," his mom introduced herself. "This is Jenny, my partner, and Sam, my son. You're Karl Jones?"

Jones nodded, but didn't take her hand, just as he'd ignored Jenny's. "It's good to see you, very good to see you," he said instead, and gestured towards the house. "Come right in, right in, I'll give you a quick tour. Feel free to look around on your own too. We don't have too much time, I have another appointment in about an hour. I hope you'll excuse me then?"

Sam stopped listening to them talk any further at that point. He'd had enough of realtors and home owners - he knew what the guy was going to say anyway. He was going to praise the lovely architecture, the way the house was build out of solid stone, robust and well isolated. Past the hallway, in the living room, there was a prominent fireplace; the kitchen was on the other end, adjacent. It was not as spacious as house number one had been, but it was comfortable and clean. The air was crisp, if dusky. The windows weren't as big, but it lent the house a dimly Victorian feel instead of a gloominess that could have resulted.

There was a bathroom that didn't interest Sam much. The stairs that led up into the first floor interested him a lot more, and he climbed them up; the chatter from the kitchen grew quieter. Since the stairs stopped after the first flight, he guessed one of the rooms on this floor instead would contain another flight up to the attic. He'd have to check that out.

He was just about to open the door to the first room to his left side when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Downstairs, he could hear voices, his mom and Jenny and sometimes, intermittent, Jones, hesitant and quiet. Sam scoffed. At least, Jones wouldn't tell his parents off for being gay. The guy was probably scared the lesbians would castrate him or something.

 _How's it going?_

Sam smiled.

 _Been lookin@houses alll day. No dise. Last won now._

 _Let me know when you'll be there tonight. You'd best ring right before you arrive so I'm warned._

Sam checked his watch. Almost six. He didn't know how long they'd be staying at this one. And then they had to get to the motel, unload the luggage. Sam wanted to have a nice, hot shower before he took off. He battled with himself for a minute, then decided that it might be best to just skip dinner with his new-found friends. He could just go to that Eureka place for the singing, and the company. Still, he didn't want to upset anyone, so he wrote,

 _Probly wont make it to diner, sry! But wil let u now when I'm on my way to Eureak._

And that was it. Sam waited a few more second; when no reply came, he sighed and slipped it back into his pocket. He wasn't sure why, or how he'd even noticed, but Riffraff had been acting strange lately, especially every time when Sam had brought up the meeting. It was almost like he didn't want to meet Sam. The thought made Sam's stomach churn uncomfortably. _He_ was looking forward to it, and yes, he was nervous, but it would be great. They got along so well, it _couldn't_ just be emails and texting, not seeing each other. It had to translate into real life. It had to.

He took a deep breath and pushed the anxieties away along with the first door. It would be fine. They would meet at Eureka, drink a beer, get to know each other face-to-face. They would click. It wasn't worth freaking out about. Even if they didn't - even if there wasn't any spark, if he wasn't really attracted. He could still have a friend here. Or even more than one.

And this place wasn't all that far away from McKinley, Google Maps had said. The bus stopped five minutes away at one of the street corners. It was a ten minutes ride. If he got a car, he could even do it in less.

Sam looked around. The room was undecorated and bleak, but square and clean, big enough for a bedroom. The window faced east, and the carpet felt soft under his feet. The walls were laid in with wood, as they were all over the house. It was a nice touch, made it feel homey. He could imagine a big bed here, and a closet or a wardrobe. Maybe a desk with a computer.

The second room was a little slimmer, but same in length. There was a desk in the corner, a computer chair, and library shelves along the walls. Someone hadn't taken all their stuff with them. A row of CD cases and books were still piled up, some romantic comedies, Season 1 of Desperate Housewives and a few Sex and The City DVDs.

The books, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a collection of Jane Austen novels and a few books written by Virginia Woolf. Sam touched the spines, dragging his fingers along the thick, dusty material. He'd never read any of these novels before. He probably never would. Reading was hard enough as it was without having to read stuff he wasn't interested in. But one of them, _To The Lighthouse_ , had a nice cover, and the title touched a chord in him. He didn't know why. He slid it out into his hand and leafed through it, eyes taking in the even spacing of the letters.

A door fell shut somewhere in the house, making him jump. He almost dropped the book - dropped an envelope instead that fell out of the cover, and when he heard footsteps, he quickly picked it up, stuffed it back into the book and put it back, heading for the door. His heart was beating quickly, almost like he'd been close to be caught looking at porn. It was ridiculous.

Outside, Jenny was looking around. When she spotted him, her expression turned curious. "There you are," she said. "Are you all right? We wondered where you'd taken off to. What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "Just around. Is mom still talking to the guy?"

"Yeah, she is. So… what do you think?"

"It's nice."

"Yes. It's a nice house, and it's clean. Not rotten. Have you seen the garden?"

"No."

"Huge. Completely hedged in, and overgrown, you could mow a maze into it and not come out again for a long while." She grinned. "But we could probably tame it if we wanted to. There's a lovely patio for barbecues."

"It's nice," Sam agreed once more. "What I've seen of it, too." He thought of the book, the strange sensation in his chest. Slightly uncanny, maybe, but that wasn't a bad thing. "I haven't been in the last room yet, but the layout's okay." There would not be any opportunity to creep around at night, or to come home late from parties, here - not if they all lived on the same floor, with his mom just two doors down from his own room. But Sam thought he could live with that, actually. It was okay.

Jenny looked like she was reading his mind. "Well, let's go look at it," she proposed.

The last room was about as big as the first one. It was empty, too, whitened completely. It was obvious the floor had been taken out shortly before, replaced with smooth panels. Towards the east side, there was a hatch attached to the ceiling, just as Sam had guessed. It probably contained a pull-down stair, saving space for the inhabitant of the room by hiding the staircase.

"This is definitely all right, isn’t it?" Jenny asked. "Bigger than the one you had at boarding school?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "And also, not occupied by an additional male. Not that that was all bad all the time, but, you know. Privacy's a nice commodity." He wandered over to the window. It pointed south, and when Sam looked out, he knew exactly what Jenny had meant when she'd mentioned the overgrown garden. "Wow. That is a shitload of weeds."

"Gardening will become one of my new hobbies, if we do get the house," his mom announced, making Sam jump in surprise.

Suddenly, he was very glad he hadn't said the _first_ thing that had sprung to mind, which was, 'If I can get a ladder below my window, those booty-calls might actually work out.' When he caught Jenny's gaze, she was smirking at him knowingly, eyes crinkling behind her glasses.

Jones was nodding like a puppet. "Definitely, definitely," he said. "We couldn't really do anything about the garden, you see. And the house has been empty for a while now, so there was no one to take care of anything beside the most pressing matters. Terribly upset, but it couldn't be helped…"

"Why?" Sam asked, interrupting the start of what was surely to become a lengthy monologue.

Mr. Jones blinked. "Why what?"

"What was it empty for so long?"

"Just family matters," Jones said swiftly, "matters of inheritance and financial disputes and the likes, nothing to concern new buyers, I'm sure, I'm sure."

"Oh," Sam said. That sounded plausible. "So is it in high demand? Do we have any chance getting it?"

"Of course, of course," Jones said, nodding again. "I mean, not at all, you are the first interested party at this moment. I'm sure there will be more, but it hasn't been advertised for very long. Of course, it would save a lot of work if you were considering buying it."

"It is a reasonable price range," his mom said. "We are definitely interested. You'll understand, though, that I'd like our lawyers to look over the contracts and the like before we sign anything. And we should hold a family council before deciding anything. But I feel like it's the front runner right now, Mr. Jones."

"Wonderful, wonderful," Jones said. "And I wouldn't want to hurry the ladies and the gentleman, but if you have anything else you'd like to see, maybe we should do that now. I should lock the gate and house when I leave, one never knows."

"The neighborhood is dangerous?" Jenny asked, stepping next to Jones. Sam and his mom followed, exchanging a glance. Sam could tell his mom liked it, and he definitely thought it was one of the better offers as well.

"No, no, it's one of the safest neighborhoods in Lima, but one shouldn't be unnecessarily careless, am I right?" Jones gave a little laugh.

"Did you ask about the thing?" Sam whispered to his mom while Jenny asked more questions up front, slowly taking the stairs down.

"What thing?" his mom asked, looking around the hallway once more before they descended as well.

"The thing where the other owners were all like, 'We don't want any filthy homosexuals living nearby'."

His mom rolled her eyes. "Ah. That thing. Yeah, we asked right at the beginning. If you'd stayed, instead of vanishing the moment we got into the house, you could have heard. He said it wasn't a problem in this part of the town. Apparently, there is another queer couple living a few houses down, two guys, no kids. And he seems to think another woman on this street's a lesbian, but since she's not living with anyone, I wonder how he'd know."

"Maybe they're friends," Sam said. "Do you really wanna take it?"

"It's a good house," his mom said. "It's not as big as some of the others, but it's a lot cheaper than our limit, which would give us a bigger budget for furniture and decorating and so on. Still think the low price is weird, but it doesn't look like anything's wrong with the place. I glanced over the papers, it all seems to be in order. They even did some nice renovating a few months back."

"Better let the lawyers have a look, anyway," Sam said. "In the end, it's built on top of like, a mine or something, and is scheduled to crack right down the middle in a year or two."

His mom let out a laugh. "Where did you hear something like that?"

"Don't laugh," Sam said, elbowing her. "Apparently, it really happens."

"Where, on TV?"

"Shut up. I've read it on the internet."

"All right. All right, I fold. So anyhow, what are we doing for dinner tonight? Are you meeting your blind date?"

"It's not a blind date if I know who it is," Sam insisted, and then shook his head. "I figured we'd go back to the motel. We can grab a burger or something. I won't make it in time for dinner with Finn and his friends anyway, and it would be super awkward to come in last. So I'll just go for the karaoke part."

"Sounds like a plan. Do you want the car?"

"Depends how far it'll be from the place you booked. I'll check later. Thanks, mom."

She tousled his hair, smiling down at him. "I'm really glad you're thinking about staying with us for a while. I was already convinced that I would never get to spend more time with you anymore before you grew up into a young man. You'd go off to college after boarding school and then work somewhere far away -"

"Mom," Sam interrupted her. "Stop being morbid. Jenny, tell her to stop yarning like an old woman!"

"We should really get going," Jenny grinned, saying good-bye to Mr. Jones, who was half-bowing, half waving at them to leave already. "We'll be in touch, Mr. Jones."

"Don't sell the house to someone else while the lawyers are looking over the contracts," Sam joked.

"No worries, no worries," Mr. Jones said, locking the door behind himself. "I'll make sure you get to make your decision first. Such a nice family. You're very welcome. Thank you so much for your interest."

And then they were off again.

 

\- - - - -

 

It was almost nine pm when Sam finally arrived at the Eureka. He'd left the car at the motel after all. His mother had picked a very central place, so it was barely a fifteen-minute walk to the bar. Sam had decided to enjoy the warm night air and get himself a visit of the city as well, while he was already here.

He was a lot more nervous than he'd thought he would be. His stomach was aching; his palms were sweating, the whole nine yards. And he hadn't called or texted Finn again, besides sending him a quick note that he'd be in sometime around nine. It had been before he'd taken his shower, so over an hour ago already. He had no idea what he should do, or how he should approach Finn. Whether he'd even recognize him in the crowd.

There was music playing in most bars, loud enough to be heard even out in the streets, echoing. It wasn't a busy night, not in the way New York nights were busy, but there were plenty of people out and about - teenagers strolling along hand-in-hand; older couples; men and women hurrying home or to bars or on dates. Eureka, when he arrived at the entrance, had to be either a very, very popular hang-out spot, or the karaoke part of the evening was a huge attraction.

Sam looked at the mass of bodies pulled so tight that it would be very hard to fit inside, never mind squeeze through, and decided to be nervous outside for a little while longer. He had a cigarette in his pocket, even though he never smoked, but in this moment, he actually considered doing it, just this once, to calm his nerves. To appear cool, to have something to do with his hands. A few kids were standing around the corner, smoking, laughing together. He watched them for a second, envious. Then he turned around and glanced into the bar through one of the smoky windows. There were lights, and a stage. Definitely two people singing, both girls, from the looks and sounds of it. Maybe Aretha Franklin. Something popular and rocky.

"Not going in?" someone asked by his side, making him jump.

He was very jumpy today. It really was not his day. Sam dropped his hand from his heart and took a deep breath. "Damn, you scared me," he said, squeezing his eyes shut before he opened them again. He got a good look at the boy then, too. He was smaller, slimmer. He looked good in a jeans-and-shirt ensemble, showing off his chest muscles, unexpected on a little thing like him. He had a pixie-face, a cute upturned nose and kissable lips. His hair was impeccably styled, falling into his forehead.

"Sorry," the boy said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right." Sam glanced back inside the bar again. "Yes, by the way. I was planning to go in. I'm meeting a friend here. I was just surprised at how full it was."

"Oh yes, it's like they're handing out free bibles in there, isn't it," the boy said derisively.

Sam stared a second, unsure whether he was joking. Then the boy cracked a smile, and Sam felt himself relax, grinning back. There was a mischievous look about his face that made Sam want to tease him, maybe tease another one of those smiles out of him. "Free something, anyway," he tried his luck. "Maybe free beer? Are you even old enough to drink?"

"Are you?" the boy shot back.

"No," Sam grinned. "But my IDs fool-proof."

"Much good it'll do you, seeing as they're not serving anyone who looks like they're under thirty."

"A compliment. Why, thank you."

"Don't let it get to you head." The boy stuffed his fingers into the non-existent space inside his pockets, his hips poking out in sharp angles. "Everyone gets one compliment for free tonight."

"And there's the riddle solved of why all these people are here. Free compliments from -?"

"Kurt," the boy said. "It's Kurt."

"Kurt." Sam smiled slowly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Sam."

"I know," Kurt said, not smiling anymore. He looked mildly taken aback.

"You know?" Sam asked. "Huh." Then he figured it out. "Oh! I guess you must be one of the Glee kids. Finn told all of you about me already?"

Kurt blinked. He was very pale suddenly. "Finn?"

"Yeah. He's the friend I'm meeting. He - we were talking, you see? I emailed him because I want to transfer to a school here. He's your lead singer, isn't he? He looked really nice on the pictures on your Glee homepage. Is he nice?"

"He's - incredible," Kurt said tonelessly. "Very nice. You'll love him. Look, I have to go, all right? The others are inside, I just came out to make a quick call, but my dad's not feeling so well, so I should go back home anyway. Can you tell them goodbye from me once you go in?"

"Ah. Sure. Listen, are you sure you don't want to -"

"No. It's fine. I'm in a bit of a hurry, actually. It was nice meeting you, Sam." Kurt gave him a smile that didn't feel genuine at all, not at all exciting and pretty like the first one. Then he turned and walked away in the direction of the parking lot. Something about the boots he was wearing sparked Sam's memory, but he could not put his fingers on why. It just didn't make any sense. Anyhow, if Kurt had been in a hurry, why had he talked to Sam at all? Weird kid.

Sam stared after him for a minute longer, then he shrugged and turned back to the bar entrance. It was still packed, but at least he wasn't feeling nervous anymore. He probably had Kurt to thank for that. Sam smiled. Maybe they could talk another time. If Kurt was part of the Glee club, they'd see each other again. He wanted to know what was wrong with Kurt's dad, and how good his singing voice was. With a speaking voice like that, he had to be able to cover an incredibly big range.

Inside, a boy and a girl were singing on stage. Sam pushed in between two people, and then under the arm of another one, and he was in, sneaking in between and underneath and once even over the lap of another person. Then he was almost at the front. There were no free seats except at one table where about eight or nine kids his age were sitting, drinking and laughing and applauding and hollering as - Finn and the brown-haired girl from the photographs sang a cheesy duet to a song Sam hadn't heard before,

 _Well I bet you any amount of money  
He'll be coming back to you  
Oh, I know there ain't no doubt about it  
Sometimes life is funny  
You think you're in your darkest hour  
When the lights are coming on in the house of love  
Ooh, house of love..._

It was nice, though it was more than obvious that the girl was a few levels above Finn in both talent and training. She finished the off with a long, precisely-hit note and then, to Sam's utter shock, fell into Finn's arms and pecked him on the mouth, grinning broadly and clapping her hands. Finn pulled her close immediately and hugged her before they came off the stage, fingers entwined.

Sam stood, rooted to the spot, before his feet, all by themselves, moved him in the direction of the table where the Glee club was sitting. He didn't approach them, though, scanning them instead. There was a sweet-looking kid in a wheelchair, a pretty black girl who was chatting with an Asian boy who moved by her side with the grace of a professional dancer. He looked at their hands, because that was the one thing that he had to go on, and found himself unsurprised when he found the ruby-red nails belonging to an incredibly beautiful blonde girl just as she attached himself to Finn and took his hand.

Right, he thought. Right. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was for safety, maybe they had a deal, Finn and the brown-haired girl. That had to be it. She was covering him. This was Lima, Ohio, after all. He waited a minute longer, waited until Finn detached from the crowd just as another pair went up on the stage to rounds of huge applause, the Asian boy and what was probably his girlfriend, holding hands. Then he moved in.

Finn looked up when Sam greeted him with a friendly, "Hi."

"Hi back," Finn said. He turned back to the bar, said, "A coke and one water, please." Then, when he realized Sam was still there, he blinked and said, "Can I help you?" There was no sign of recognition in his eyes.

Sam swallowed. "I'm Sam," he said. "We spoke. Or wrote, I should say. I -"

"What?" Finn grinned. "I think I'd remember that. Sam, you said?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry. I don't know any Sam."

"But you're Finn," Sam said.

"Sure." The bartender handed Finn his drinks, on the house, and Finn took them, one glass in each hand. "Thanks, man."

"I was supposed to meet you guys here tonight. The Glee club?" Sam's chest was very tight. If this was a joke - what if someone was making a fool of him? He looked around, but he couldn't see anything. There were people everywhere.

Finn stopped finally, and looked at him fully this time, maybe realizing his panic, or just confused, the way his brow furrowed. "You were?" he asked.

"I - you're not Riffraff."

"What? No - you thought I was? No, that's Kurt, he always has the weirdest emails, doesn't he?" Finn grinned. "I'd pat you on the back if I had a hand free but I don't, sorry man. If you're with Kurt, you should be fine, you can come and sit with us until he comes back. He just went out for a sec to phone. Are you his boyfriend or something?"

"No," Sam said. He didn't really hear what Finn said next, just walked with him, pushed along by the crowd. He felt like someone had just sucker punched him. Kurt. The boy outside. That - that was. It made a lot of sense, actually. Those boots. He'd known he'd seen them before. And that smile. The sharp humor.

"He's not there yet," Finn said when they arrived at the table. His mouth turned down at one corner, but just for a blink, then he was upbeat again. "Oh well," he smiled at Sam. "He'll be back. Guys, this is Sam. He's Kurt's something."

"Oooh, you're Sam!" blonde frenemy said, with the red-painted fingernails, taking the water glass from Finn when he offered it to her. Black girl's chin snapped up at that. When Sam returned her gaze, he realized she was looking at him like he was her next science experiment, to be quickly dissected. This was all going very, very wrong.

"I think I should probably leave," Sam said, wincing at his own breaking voice and the horrendous false notes the boy was hitting on the stage. "I - Kurt said to tell you he's not coming back. Something about his dad. I should go, too. It was nice meeting you."

He didn't wait for any replies. He fled.

 

\- - - - -


	8. the follow-up

Sam was two steps out of the bar when someone caught his elbow. Two someones. He turned to jerk free and realized Frenemy and Science Experiment had followed him out, at which point he freed himself, but no longer fought to flee, even though they were looking at him with a mix of curiosity and, in Frenemy's case, rising contempt. It wasn't a comfortable position to be in.

"What?" he asked them, bubble of anger rising in his throat. He wasn't the one screwing everything up.

"This is Mercedes and I'm Quinn," the blonde girl introduced them, ignoring his glare. "We want to talk."

"About what?"

"What's your deal with Kurt?" Mercedes asked, cutting to the chase.

"My deal?"

"Yeah," Mercedes said. Her hands were on her hips. "What, Kurt's not good enough for you, prettyboy?"

Sam frowned. That... was not what he'd expected her to say. "I had no idea who Kurt even was until Finn cleared everything up," he told her, crossing his arms before his chest. "None of this is my fault. First of all, _he_ was the one who took off suddenly without clearing things up; and also, he's the one who pretended to be someone else!"

"Did he?" Quinn asked. She looked amused. "How did he manage - no, no, okay, let's not go there. Just tell us what happened."

"Yeah, maybe we can still fix it," Mercedes said. "Kurt's awesome, but he can be a bit of a drama queen about things, too."

Sam snorted. A bit? "Why should I try to fix anything? He lied to me."

"Or maybe you were indulging in some wishful thinking," Quinn pointed out. "Because Kurt told me about this thing you guys had going, and he said he never lied to you."

"He said he was the male lead and the best singer in your Glee club!"

"He is arguably the best singer, in my opinion, and definitely in his own eyes, and also, every single one of the guys in our club think they're the leads. Except Mike. But that's because Mike has no self-esteem except when he's dancing."

"Fine. He also said he likes to work on cars, in like, a garage -"

"I bet he didn't say that," Quinn interrupted him. "He would never admit to it, even though he does enjoy it. He probably told you that he's good at it, though. Which he might be, considering his dad owns the garage. You basically took what he said and twisted all his words to fit your secret little fantasy. He might be well rid of _you_."

Sam had to admit that Quinn had a point, even though something about all this still didn't sit right with him. "Why couldn't he just tell me who he was from the start without making it a blind date thing?" he finally asked. He stubbed the toe of his shoe against the ground. The girls were still giving him scathing looks. "It's not like I wouldn't have liked him either way. He came up to me when I got here - we talked for bit, and I thought he was great."

Mercedes was softening up, he could tell. Quinn looked unconvinced. "You still want to talk to him?" she asked.

Sam considered this carefully. His chest was tight with emotion, confusion most prominent, but also annoyance and curiosity. The boy he'd met - Kurt. Kurt had been really cute and funny. And Sam had to admit that in retrospect, he _could_ have realized that Kurt was Riffraff if he hadn't been so convinced it was Finn. Not only because of the boots, but also because he had that mischievous self-deprecating feel about him that mirrored his emails; and because he seemed smart and self-aware and, well. Not straight. Unlike Finn, who was probably dating the dark-haired girl.

"I do want to talk to him again," Sam decided. "We both messed up, I guess. And I'll be going to school here, and living here, and you all seem good friends. I don't want to make enemies already. I came here to make friends with you guys."

Mercedes and Quinn exchanged a glance, then they nodded at each other.

"Fine," Mercedes said. "But let us talk to him first. Don't go and do any shit, Kurt can be a brat when he's hurt. When he's ready, he'll contact you."

"But -"

"We promise, we'll get him to shape up."

"Are you sure I shouldn't go after him?" Sam asked.

"No," Mercedes said. "He might act like a Victorian maiden sometimes, but if you treat him like one, he will punch you in the face. Just let him work this one out. After a night thinkin' about everything, he'll be much more amenable to suggestions."

Sam gave in. "All right. If you say so."

There was an awkward moment in which they just stood there, looking at each other, wondering what to say; considering they'd just met, this had been a fairly intense first conversation. Sam couldn't make up his mind about them; they were sweet, and loyal, but also sort of fierce. He'd never had close girl friends before. He wondered if this was what it was like. He wondered if they'd do the same for him if he became part of their clique. He wondered if Kurt would still be mad in the morning, and tell them to ignore him and not be friends with him. The thought hurt more than Sam was willing to admit.

"So, Sam," Quinn asked finally. "Do you want to come back in for a while?"

Sam could imagine Kurt's face when he found out. "That's... probably not a good idea," he said.

"It would be fun?"

"Yeah, and I think it'll be okay for just a drink and a song. Kurt told us a lot about your singing voice," Mercedes chimed in.

"He did?"

"Yeah. You have to prove him right, now."

Sam looked at his watch. It wasn't even ten. He'd told his mom he'd be back by midnight. If he returned to the hotel now, they would definitely know that something had gone wrong. He really didn't want to be subjected to the Spanish Inquisition tonight. And Quinn was right, it had looked all kinds of fun. He could sing. He could get a drink.

"Yes, okay," he agreed. "For an hour or so. But you can't tell -"

"- Kurt, yeah." Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Come on, girl, we'll put the hour to good use and teach you all about the ways to get into Hummel's pants." She grinned.

"Hummel?"

"His last name. God, you really don't know anything."


	9. morning

Half past eleven, with his dad long asleep and his pre-bed moisturizing routine applied and washed off, Kurt was dressing in his silky striped pyjamas when his cell phone rang. The plan had been to climb into bed and stream an episode of Beautiful People off the internet (because the British might have horrible oral hygiene, but they did know something about young gay boys and their secret dreams) - but now, apparently, the episode had to wait. He climbed into the bed and opened the text message.

It was from Sam and read,

 _WAS A BADBYO QUIN SAYS 2 SPANKK ME_

Kurt stared at the message for a good ten seconds, mind completely blank, before he realized that it wasn't so much what it said as what it _meant_. Sam was out there stealing his friends. Kurt almost hurled the phone across the room. Not that that would help, as firstly, it wouldn't hurt Sam nor those treacherous Glee club lackeys of his who had apparently defected and joined the gorgeous, dumb kid's team. And secondly, he would end up with a broken phone, and he'd only just managed to configure this one to his needs and desires.

So instead, he wrote, as scathingly as he could,

 _Fuck off and die!!!_

He didn't have to wait very long for a reply.

 _:(_

And, a moment later, another one:

 _makign me :(_

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed the spot just above the bridge of his nose where his head was starting to ache, and told himself to let it go. He could always read the girls the riot act in the morning. There was no hiding it, he knew exactly whose fault this was.

 

\- - - - -

 

The next day, Kurt awoke with his alarm at nine, was out of bed, at breakfast, and then ready to leave shortly before ten am. He felt his friends deserved nothing less on such a lovely August Sunday.

He was at Mercedes' house at ten. Quinn was still staying over, so Kurt knew he was killing two birds with one stone. He let Mercedes' cell phone ring until she picked up with a groaned, "Yes?", and said, "I'm at your front door. And in compensation for the cruel sufferings I was subjected to last night, I command both of you to get up, get dressed and accompany me to the mall. I need new shoes, and I am not taking no for an answer."

"You're crazy bitch," Mercedes muttered and hung up on him. A minute later, the front door buzzed open, letting him inside.

Mercedes' mother was sitting on the couch in the living room when he passed, reading a book. She looked up and smiled. "Morning, Kurt."

"Hi, Mrs. Jones. Picking up Mercedes and Quinn, we're going out."

"All right, honey. Have fun."

The girls were yawning and getting out of their respective beds with very scary hair and looking like they'd been out partying the whole night. "You're a slave driver," Quinn told him when she passed him on her way to the shower, clothes and towel in her hands. "Evil overlord."

Mercedes, still in her blue-striped pyjamas, rolled her eyes and took him downstairs to the kitchen, where she made three cups of coffee and pointed at one of the seats. "Sit. Drink. Tell Mercedes what ails you." Her hair really was quite hilarious. Kurt had to keep his hands to himself, or risk her swatting them away.

When she'd poured the cream in, added a sugar, and slid a plate of pastries in front of him, he came right out with it and said, "You let Sam stay and join in the singing." But the fight was out of him at this point. There was no sense trying to get the anger back when he could just sip his coffee and get it all out of his system over a pastry. It was a chocolate pastry. He didn't usually indulge.

"How'd you find out?" Mercedes asked, sipping. She didn't look guilty at all.

"Last night. He wrote me a text. He sounded drunk."

"Yeahhh," Mercedes smirked. "There was an older guy who bought him a couple beers."

Kurt stared at his cup of coffee, focusing on the patterns the cream made so he could ignore the sting in his chest. "Classy," he said, voice taking an arrogant turn. "I really know how to pick 'em."

"Don't be an ass, Kurt," Mercedes said. "The guy handed drinks to everyone, Finn and me, and Puck and Santana. Rachel almost had an aneurism over it, but then Finn kissed her silly and she got over it. And Sam's a nice dude. Even though he's crap at following orders."

Quinn joined them then, rubbing the towel through her hair. She squinted. "Who's following orders?"

"Sam. Didn't follow orders and wrote Kurt a message last night."

"Ah. He's really not the smartest boy. But sweet, though. And quite a lovely singer."

"That's what I said," Mercedes said, holding out her fist, which Quinn bumped with her own, smiling.

"He thought I was Finn," Kurt said derisively. " _Not the smartest_ , you can say that again."

Quinn gave Kurt a heavy stare. "It's not like your charade helped with any of that. You mightn't have lied, but you weren't exactly honest either."

Kurt ducked his head. "So what. You said yourself that there was no way I could hide my... 'personality'." He said the last word with an overemphasized finger quotation.

Mercedes grinned. "Kurt kind of has a point."

Quinn shrugged. "Sam said he thought you were cute," she offered.

Kurt flushed and glared, the only option he saw left to hide his embarrassment. "You're making that up."

"He said it. He also said he still likes you. So." Quinn hopped onto another chair and pushed at Mercedes' shoulder. "Go shower. I'll hold the fort. And eat your pastry."

"Fingers off my éclair!" Mercedes threatened, but left them to it.

When they were alone, Quinn gave Kurt a soft look and said, "You should write him. Maybe he's not gone back to New York yet. Even if it was just for a few minutes, you could talk and be friends again?"

Kurt shrugged. He met her gaze and held it. "I don't want another friend," he told her. "I have friends. I have you guys, and Finn, and the rest of Glee. And I don't think I _could_ be his friend."

"Oh," Quinn breathed.

"Right."

"Right. That's - I can't say about that."

"I know. That's why we're going shoe shopping today," Kurt smiled.

Quinn drank the rest of her coffee and finished off Mercedes' éclair. "I can live with that," she smiled back.


	10. yours are my love

A week passed in which Sam kept up minimal communication with Quinn and Mercedes over Facebook. Almost all the Glee kids had added him, the only glaring omission - Kurt. It was doubly annoying because Quinn and Mercedes refused to touch the subject with a ten-foot pole and only swapped general information with him, no matter how hard he begged.

He'd texted Kurt with an offer to talk before he'd flown back to New York, but Kurt hadn't replied. Sam had expected Kurt to take him up on it to at least get a good bitching in, but even that seemed too much to ask.

In the midst of the stressful week that he was having, it would have been nice to get a few of the messages they'd exchanged before, a cheerful note or a flirty sentence. The move was not long away now. They'd started packing up things in cartons and boxes, carefully selecting and storing. Sam was put in charge of handling auctioning and garage sale and ebaying and craigslisting when he wasn't packaging, which absorbed most of his free time.

It was in the evenings, in the minutes before falling asleep, that he let himself indulge in self-pitying thoughts, like how Kurt might not _want_ to be friends with him now that they'd met, for whatever reason. Sam didn't really have self-esteem issues, but it made him feel self-conscious that Kurt had found something in him to dislike in all of the five minutes they'd talked. He knew he'd been self-absorbed and that he wasn't too smart about things - sure, he could have figured out that Riffraff was Kurt, maybe, if he'd not let himself be convinced that it was Finn. It seemed very clear now in retrospect, of course: on the photos Kurt had sent (which Sam had downloaded onto a folder on his computer), Kurt's hair was lighter than Finns was, his wrists thin and graceful. His fingers were long and slender on the piano he played, his boots shiny and expensive.

His mom and Jenny seemed to be aware that something was going on, but as of yet, they'd been keeping their distance. Sam had no idea why that was, and it was highly unusual: his mom tended to badger him about these things until he bled from the ears, and Jenny, though subtler, also had a knack for the carefully extraction of secrets.

But there was the matter of the house - which the lawyers had said looked legit and like a good deal - and so maybe they were too busy acquiring moving services and handling money matters, figuring out dates on which they could move to Lima finally.

The question about boarding school seemed to have been laid to rest. Sam wasn't sure now he felt about this. Suddenly, with Kurt not replying - possibly disliking Sam now - Lima didn't feel quite as attractive anymore.

His mom found him sulking in the living room while he walked around, picking up random items as if he was mentally cataloging them into "taking with" and "throwing out".

"What's up?" she asked, and when he raised his eyebrows, she raised her own back at him and said, "Don't even think about lying to me, I know you're not helping with the packing."

Sam flushed, caught. "Just bored," he muttered.

And that wasn't a lie. The move, exciting at the beginning, had lost all of its charm via return to mundanity, and he didn't even have many friends left to whom he could complain. It wasn't that he necessarily resented his boarding school mates for abandoning him. It was how it went: he'd been on the other end of this as well, when other boys had left school after which he'd never talked to them again. Boys at boarding school were a tightly knit bunch. Once you moved out, you were out. Two or three boys would keep up with emails or have a vid-chat on Skype now and then, the rest would be staying in touch on Facebook or not at all.

"I noticed you weren't going out anymore," his mum said. She was leaning against the door frame. "Is something going on?"

"Nah, just random stuff. I guess it would be great if we could finally just do it. This is taking forever." Which wasn't a lie.

"The movers are hauling over most of the things to the house this weekend, and we'll be selling the rest off or taking it out to the trash or giving it away in the meantime. We should be done by Sunday with the last round of transport."

"We'll get into the car and drive down," Jenny added, joining them in the living room. She put her hands around his mom's waist and squeezed once before she moved on, grabbing one of the boxes. "I think someone put my hairdryer in a box already."

Sam made a face. "You left it in the cupboard with the cleaning supplies. I thought you didn't use it anymore. You have that huge one in your bedroom!"

"But this one is special," Jenny grinned and opened the box, rummaging through it. "Anyway, I'm hungry. We should go get dinner somewhere. How do you feel about Chinese?"

"Restaurant food is the only option we have left, at this point," Sam's mom said dryly, "since _someone_ ," she gave Jenny a disapproving look, "started packing up the china, which means we'll be eating on paper plates until we move."

Sam raised his hand sheepishly. "I packed up the cooking pots and pans a few hours ago, so it's not like we'll be cooking anyway."

His mom sent him a withering glare. "You never bothered to read that bullet point list I made."

Sam shrugged and exchanged a look with Jenny. He had a feeling he wasn't the only one, either.

They went out for Chinese later, and sitting at the table with them, Sam didn't feel quite so lonely anymore, making fun of the other patrons, sipping on their glasses of juice. It felt nice, and he had fun, and he thought, he'd made the right choice after all, if this was what he was going to get more often from now on.

 

\- - - - -

 

One of the first things the movers carried into the house was Jenny's piano. Sam was making tea in the kitchen when they heaved it up the front porch and through the door (barely fitting it through). He was surreptitiously eying the boys, their muscled chests underneath their white t-shirts, arms flexing. They were both fit and one of them was desperately good-looking (and, Sam reminded himself, probably very straight).

He'd offered to help earlier, but they'd laughed and turned him down. The good-looking one had said, "We get paid for this, so thanks, but it's fine. You should save your strength for later anyway, when you're decorating the place," and that... could have been really rude except he'd said it with an adorable smile and a pat to Sam's back, so Sam couldn't even be mad.

They kept bringing in boxes after that, stacking them on top of each other in between carrying the occasional piece of furniture. For this last batch of stuff, the two guys had driven down in a van, and his mom had packed the rest up into the car so they could follow after. The drive had taken ten very long hours, starting from eight am, and Sam had no idea how they were even standing upright, never mind working.

"You want some tea and crackers?" he called out when the tea was done, and he saw Jenny having a chat with one of them in the doorway. He had no idea where his mom had vanished to until he noticed a couple standing outside out the front window. His mom was talking to them, smiling. Ah, he thought. Neighbors. That was fast.

"Thanks, Sam," Jenny said, entering the kitchen. The two movers followed on her heel. She called the handsome one Miles, and the other one Harry, and Sam really had to fight down a blush when Miles caught his eye while he was handing over the cup. Miles smiled.

"I'm gonna go out and check if mom wants some as well," he muttered and fled. He was still a little flushed when he arrived at his mom's side, but that might have been from the fact that he'd sprinted there, and not from embarrassment.

"This is my son, Sam," his mom introduced him when he stopped by her side and gave the new neighbors a friendly nod.

"Hi," Sam said, holding out his hand. They were an older couple than he'd assumed from the window, but they seemed nice, homely. "If you want, there's tea and crackers inside," he told them, and they thanked him and smiled, but they didn't say much else to him, just turned back to his mom and chattered on about how lovely it would be to have neighbors again after the amount of time the house had stood empty.

Sam wandered off after a moment, strolling across the street and then made his way into the garden. It really was as overgrown as he remembered, and _huge_. He'd never had a garden like this before, and he considered for a moment taking his boots off to run barefoot through the high grass, but then reconsidered. He didn't want to get hurt on his first day here.

He still waded through the greenery though, even if he left his shoes on, and made it to the shrubbery at the far end of the garden, a line of high trees separating them from the next property. He was just about to see if he could find a way to get to it, or whether there was some sort of fence when movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He whirled around, expecting to see a stray cat or animal, but there was nothing.

It was dusking already, the sun setting in the west. It had been a lovely summer's day, spent in the car, not a raincloud in sight; now there was a shadowy shape like a grim, morose sensation passing over him. Sam put his arms around himself and shivered. It was warm, warm enough to wear thin t-shirts and shorts, but there was something sharply cool in the air around him suddenly, piercing his chest.

He looked around but couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. The sky was still clear, the leaves moving softly in the wind.

It took him a few minutes to get back to the house, and by the time he was close enough to the terrace, the sensation had passed, turning into merely a small prickle at the back of his neck. Inside, he found his mom rummaging through boxes, carrying things upstairs, while Jenny sat at the piano, practicing.

"The guys gone already?" Sam asked, and winced when Jenny sent him a knowing look from underneath hear eyelashes. God, he was so obvious.

"Yep," she said, and finished the last handful of chords. She'd been playing improvisation, or if not, it wasn't something he could identify from memory. He didn't get to ask though because Jenny closed the lid on the keys and said, "Pity that you had to leave. I think Miles was going to ask for your number."

"No he wasn't." Sam didn't wait for her reply. He marched into the kitchen, thankfully finding a newly brewed pot of tea on the table. He was pouring himself a cup when Jenny followed him, sliding onto one of the chairs gracefully, leg tucked up beneath her, elbows on the table. She watched him drink, and didn't say anything.

After a minute of silence, Sam became restless. "What?" he asked, moving around. The kitchen felt weird, and probably would for a while. He'd spent years being comfortable in the old one; this one was bigger, a little brighter because of the huge window. There was more space which he knew no one was going to use because none of them had a particular fondness for baking, or cooking huge meals.

Jenny's lips curled up into a smile. "Are you on your period?"

Sam stared at her, feeling the strong urge to scrub his brains out. Then he got what she actually meant and glared. "I'm a teenager," he said. "I'm allowed to be moody."

"Prerogative," Jenny agreed. She was still smiling that smile of hers which wasn't even annoying. Sam really felt like she should be more annoying, the way she knew everything, except she always made sure to word it in a way that didn't make him feel offended.

"Anyway, he was probably straight," Sam found himself muttering into his cup.

Jenny hum-hummed and looked at him.

"And in any case, boys are stupid, so."

"Come on, sit down." Jenny kicked the chair at the table opposite from her, and after a second of contemplation, Sam gave in and sat down. He poured another cup of tea for himself to keep his hands busy. "Does this have anything to do with what happened with Finn?"

Sam almost swallowed his tongue, because she couldn't know, could she? The way he ducked his head probably gave him away, though, because she made an ah-sound and didn't say anything else.

It was embarrassing to think about, much less to talk about, but there was also a little voice in the back of his mind that wondered whether maybe she couldn't give him some good advice. He didn't want to push Kurt anymore; he'd tried to contact him, and Kurt hadn't replied. There was a line. And Quinn and Mercedes weren't any help either. But he still sort of wanted to - at least check in with Kurt.

"It wasn't really Finn," Sam finally admitted, and didn't look at Jenny at all, scratching over the surface of the table with his nails. "I mean. Finn exists. And I thought I was talking with him, but really the boy's name is Kurt. And I misread some things he told me, so I assumed it was Finn, but I never asked, so it was my own fault really."

"Ah," Jenny said. She didn't say anything else, so Sam shrugged and nodded and went on, "Right. But then I think - I mean. He didn't say who he was either! He knew who I was, but he kept himself a secret, so why's he so mad at me that I got the wrong person at first?"

When Jenny didn't reply, he looked up at her. She was looking at him speculatively, and when she realized she had his attention, said, "Why do you think he didn't tell you who he was?"

Sam bit his lip. "No idea. It's not like he's hideous or something. He's actually really cute. You know." He felt himself flush and rushed on, "But he's sort of girly, I think, and he kept going on and on about like, manly stuff. When we talked."

"That's not very surprising, is it? Think about what he must have experienced all his life. People find boys being girly weird everywhere. And this is the Midwest."

Sam sighed. "I guess. But not me. He's fine. He's really fun, like, that hasn't changed just because he's not into football anymore, or because he likes pretty boots. I met him for a few minutes, and I really liked him."

"You should tell him that, not me," Jenny said.

"I tried! But he's not listening or replying or even willing to talk. I don't know why not. I even told Quinn and Mercedes - they're his girl friends - that they should tell him I want to be his friend, but they keep saying he's busy."

"His friend?" Jenny asked.

Sam leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms before his chest. "Yeah."

Jenny's eyebrows were vanishing under her fringe. "Just friends?"

Sam's face colored. "I'm not talking about that with you."

"All right, all right. I'll stop grilling you. We should go help Karen with the boxes anyway; I bet she's already working herself up, wondering if we'll get the beds and sheets and everything set up before nightfall."

"I can sleep on the floor for one night," Sam waved her concerns away, and tried not to think about the strange sensation from the garden. He'd probably imagined it all, and it was a new house. New things to get used to. Everything was awkward and didn't fit right and he'd probably be hitting his knees and toes on all edges and corners for a while.

"Let's hope you won't need to," Jenny said, and stood up. "And I certainly won't, so get that tool kit, and I'll get a few more boxes, and off we go."

 

\- - - - -

 

Rachel Berry, Sam discovered, was one of the most obnoxious people he'd ever met; but strangely, just like Finn was in a dim, jock sort of way, she was also _lovely_. Together, they made a glorious couple, akin some of the more hilarious duos in the history of film that Sam had seen.

"- and of course then, I had to take over and I did 'Don't Rain on my Parade', which is a piece I've been working on since early childhood. If you wanted, I could play you the video sometime, it's on YouTube as well, and MySpace and my multiple Facebook profiles -"

"Thanks," Sam said slowly. "I'll... check it out."

Finn smiled at him from behind Rachel's shoulder and gave him a thumbs up.

After a lot of consideration, he'd worked up the guts to message the Glee kids again, once he'd settled down in the new house. It had taken two days to decorate and put most of the stuff in its place. His room still looked very barren, though, and the rest of the house hadn't much improved on the tornado-hit state, chaos warring with the need to establish an early order of things.

Since he'd stopped asking about Kurt and started putting some real work behind building friendships with the other Glee club members, Quinn and Mercedes had become a lot less monosylabic; and when he'd uttered a request for someone to take him for a quick glance around McKinley High, Finn had surprisingly volunteered before Quinn or Mercedes had even had the chance to reply.

They were walking around the high school premises now, and Sam felt like the school wasn't so much different from what he'd imagined and many other schools he'd seen. They had a football pitch, and an auditorium, and a special practice field behind the gym just for the cheerleaders, which was a little weird - until Sam remembered Sue Sylvester was coaching here.

"You want to stay away from the Cheerios and Sue Sylvester," Finn said when they made their way back to the front gates finally. "I mean. Not that they're all bad. Quinn was a Cheerio, after all, and Kurt joined them a few weeks before they won Nationals."

"He's right," Rachel chimed in. "But as a group, they can be pretty vicious. With the slushies. They always throw blueberry, too."

Sam was still stuck on the image of Kurt in a cheerleader uniform. "Kurt's a cheerleader?" he asked weakly.

"The Cheerios aren't normal cheerleaders," Finn shrugged. "They have good choreography and Kurt's a good dancer."

"Unlike other men I could mention," Rachel teased him and nudged his side with her elbow, grinning.

It was no wonder, Sam reflected, that he didn't even feel a gust of jealousy, just a slight pang of regret about the fact that Finn was really taken, just as he'd assumed. They were sickeningly adorable together, almost as if their faults cancelled out when they were in each other's presence.

"The school's really nice," Sam said, and forced himself to move the conversation away from Kurt.

He'd been wondering if Jenny wasn't right, if Kurt really just thought that Sam didn't want him. And then Sam reminded himself that he wasn't quite sure himself if he wanted Kurt to be more than his friend, because having a boyfriend wasn't something Sam was seeing in his life for quite a while yet. Dating - maybe some handjobs and kissing in cars. He'd like to kiss Kurt, he thought. Maybe they could hang out, and kiss. But a boyfriend implied more than that, somehow.

"The building's nice as long as it's empty, at least," Rachel smiled, and then, pursing her lips and looking him up and down in a considering manner, she asked, "So Sam. Are you dating anyone?"

 

\- - - - -

 

Sam had no idea how he'd gone from spilling the beans to Rachel Berry about everything that had happened with Kurt, to Kurt _standing on the doorsteps of the new house_ , arm raised in an attempt to knock (because the doorbell wasn't working yet).

Sam had been about to bring out the trash. He almost stumbled over Kurt and imagined what it would have been like to really fall and take Kurt him with him - to fall back and possibly on Kurt's mouth. Then he shook himself out of it and said, "Hi!"

Kurt blinked. He narrowed his eyes. "You're not psychic, are you?"

"I was taking out the trash," Sam said, nodding his chin at the ton of paper and cardboard he was holding.

"Oh. That's - fine then."

"What's wrong with psychics anyway?" Sam asked, passed Kurt and walked to the bin into which he unceremoniously dumped everything he was holding.

"I'd tell you, but I'm pretty sure you don't want to know. Once I get into rant mode, you won't hear the end of it for hours."

"Fair enough," Sam said, and stopped when Kurt still wasn't moving. "Um. Do you want to come in?"

Kurt looked at the front door, at Sam, and said, "You know, I think I've been here before."

"Is that a yes?"

"I guess so," Kurt said, and followed Sam inside.

They'd painted the walls in an inviting, soothing wheat color, before putting up the wardrobe and shoe stacks and mirrors. Everything looked neater now than it had days ago; the living room was cleaned free of rubbish for the most part, and they new couch they'd ordered had been delivered on the same day. Sam watched as Kurt looked around and felt at the same time exhilarated and scared, like Kurt's judgment would be the be-all and end-all of his well-being.

Maybe that was easier than to admit that his heart was beating twice as fast just because Kurt had the lovliest eyes Sam had ever seen; and of course, if he ever did get to kiss Kurt, he'd have to sing him Elton John's 'Your Song', and that would be epic. But they weren't there yet. Sam had this sudden urge to rush to get to the good part.

"This is really nice," Kurt said finally, looking around one more time before his gaze settled on Sam.

"Thanks," Sam smiled. His shoulders relaxed. Yet there was one more thing. "Not to be a douche or anything, but uh. Why're you here?"

Kurt's eyebrows rose.

"That came out wrong," Sam corrected himself. "I mean. Obviously, I love that you're here. I mean, I was trying to reach you to apologize. But you didn't answer. So it's nice that you're answering now."

Kurt was smiling, just a little twitch of his lips, but it was there, dimples, cheeks rounding out.

"Sam, if you're not busy, would you open the window in the bathroom? I know you can't help it, but it's toxic in there. And Karen - oh. You've got company."

Sam closed his mouth with a snap and put his hands over his face. "Yeah. Thanks." His face was hot as coal. "Can we all pretend Jenny just said 'Hello Kurt'?"

Kurt was doubling over with laughter. "You've obviously never lived with my dad. Um, hi Mrs Evans?"

"Hughes, actually, and it's Jenny. You're the Kurt?" Jenny took his offered hand. "It's good to finally have a face match the declarations of love."

"Aaand this was my cue to go kill myself." Sam was staring at them in horror.

"Don't be silly," Kurt grinned. "I've heard about those love declarations from five different people now."

"I'm having small-town syndrome."

"I don't think it's lethal, Sam. Anyway, I came down to tell you that your mom went to the shop," Jenny said. "Oh, and if you take Kurt here up to your room? Keep the door open."

"You're _kidding_ -"

Jenny held up her hands, interrupting him. "Not my orders. Defy them if you must, but take it up with Karen." And with that, she vanished to the kitchen.

"Fine. Let's go to my room," Sam said loudly. "And I'll _be closing my door_."

From the kitchen, the sound of the coffee maker starting up echoed back at him, rumbling without any hint of concern.

Kurt looked intrigued. He held back until they were upstairs, walking to Sam's room, and then he said, a little baffled, "Jenny's not your mom?"

"My mom's girlfriend," Sam said shortly.

"Your mom's a lesbian?"

Sam pulled him into the room and closed the door behind him. Then he turned to Kurt and put his hands on his hips. "You got a problem with that?"

Kurt looked at him with the perfect balance of boredom and disdain. "Don't be an asshole."

Sam stalked to his bed - the first thing they'd put together for this room - and sat down on it, affronted. "Hey, don't blame me. What do I know what kind of prejudices float about in this village? Just 'cause you're gay doesn't mean you gotta be nice about women."

When Kurt didn't reply, just kept standing rooted to the spot, back straight and looking like someone had tied him to a pole, Sam curled his fingers together and shrugged. "Anyway. I was going to apologize the next time I saw you, so I should probably do that now. I'm sorry I was a dick, all right? Both about assuming who you were just based on what you told me, and for sending those drunk messages."

"And for trying to steal my friends," Kurt pointed out.

"Trying to - are you mental?"

Kurt snorted. "Relax. I was joking. Mostly." When Sam didn't stop him, he grew more confident in his approach towards Sam. When Sam made some space, he sat down next to him and stared down at his knees.

"I'm sorry too. I didn't realize. Or. I did realize, but I thought it would be nice to have someone who knew all this other stuff about me. And you seemed to like it better when I talked about all that manly guy stuff than other things. I really wanted you to like me."

"I guess it's just - so I don't know all musicals ever created since the beginning of the world, and I've never seen a Bette Davis movie," Sam said. "It's not like I'd hate it though. Hearing about it, I mean. You wouldn't know it from a first glance, but I really like Disney movies, and Chopin."

Kurt smiled a gentle, heartstring-tugging little smile that was so gorgeous on his face that Sam's stomach flopped helplessly and he had to swallow once, twice, because his mouth went so dry.

They were sitting barely a few inches apart, not even the space it would take to fit a hand between them. It had never felt that way, that strange tugging sensation in his belly, not with any of the other boys he'd kissed, not even with their mouths on his neck or his stomach, their hands on him. Kurt had really lovely eyelashes.

"I like Chopin, too," Kurt said, and smiled wider, and Sam leaned in, catching his lips in a kiss.

It wasn't a long kiss, barely a few seconds before Kurt leaned back, staring at Sam in shock. Sam stared back, unsure if what he'd done was awful and creepy or welcome and awesome and would lead to many more awesome things to come.

"Oh," Kurt simply said, and slowly lifted his hand to touch his lips.

"Is - is that a good oh? Or a bad oh?" Sam wanted to touch Kurt's lips too, with his fingers, his thumb, touch Kurt's face.

Kurt bit his lip instead of letting Sam kiss it again. "Quinn and Mercedes told me you wanted - I mean. And Rachel. I wouldn't have believed her except Finn was there, too, telling me all about how you liked me, and he wouldn't lie. None of them would, I guess." He looked unsure. "Do you really?"

Sam nodded. "I told you!"

"No, you said you wanted to be friends. And you were hot for Finn. Finn's not exactly a lot like me."

"I can't like more than one type of boy?" Sam asked, surprised.

Kurt shrugged. Sam couldn't quite put together the image of Kurt, looking scared and sort of shy, with the bad-ass Kurt who spouted sarcastic one-liners and sent texts that dripped with disdain, making Sam chortle.

From downstairs, sounds carried up then; footsteps, voices talking. His mom. "Shit," Sam said, and got off the bed to open the door. "Mom's back."

Kurt stood up as well but didn't follow him. The spark of amusement was back in his eyes.

"I'm not scared of her or anything," Sam insisted.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm not. But if she comes up and the door's closed she'll think we're like, boyfriends or something -"

"Which we're not."

"Well, not unless you want to kiss me more."

"Because the kissing is the main attraction?" Kurt scoffed, making a move to leave.

"It is, with me," Sam smiled and took the step separating them to press close to Kurt, leaning into him. "I could show you again if you wanted."

Kurt was half-smiling again. "You're such a dick."

"If having one makes me one -"

"Oh my God, how haven't you choked on your own cleverness yet?"

"So can I?" Sam asked, ignoring that. Because kissing was more important than a battle of the wits. Obviously.

"Can you what?" Kurt was flushing.

"Kiss you."

"No," Kurt said.

Sam huffed, frustrated.

"Maybe," Kurt relented.

Sam grinned at that, triumphant, and leaned in to press another kiss to Kurt's lips. This time, Kurt kissed back, moving his lips against Sam's a little hesitantly. He got brave quickly enough, though, and didn't even flinch when Sam licked against his lips a little, trying to get him to open his mouth.

Kurt pulled away. "I want dates," he said.

"Dates?"

"You know. Dating. As you do. I'm not easy."

"Fine," Sam said. Dating was okay. Maybe he could survive dating. Just a little. He pulled Kurt closer by the hips and kissed him again.

"And you're meeting my dad. Don't worry, he's great."

"We're not even dating yet, and I didn't really think the boyfriend thing -"

"He likes to get an early picture of potential suitors," Kurt said. "As do I. Now where were we?" He leaned up and into Sam, pressing closer even, their chests touching, as did the fronts of their pants, making Sam pant a little into the kiss, and Kurt made a noise that was almost a moan -

"Sam?" came a voice from downstairs. "Don't you want to introduce your guest?"

"Aw, mom," Sam groaned, and Kurt buried his face in Sam's shoulder and giggled.

"Sam?"

"All right!" Sam yelled back, holding Kurt close. And maybe the boyfriend thing wouldn't be so bad after all. After they'd done the kissing. And the dating. After they'd figured out if they still got along so well as they had in written form.

"This went better than expected," Kurt said after he'd pulled away, straightening his shirt. He looked pleased and flushed and rumpled. His lovingly styled hair was in disarray, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Expected?" Sam asked.

"Never mind," Kurt told him, taking his hand. "I forgot, you're not from around here. You wouldn't do anything so lame as to give me a promise ring in exchange for a first kiss." He looked at Sam suspiciously. "You wouldn't, right?"

Sam thought back to when he'd been eleven and begging his best friend Sophie from the park for a kiss, and offering her a cheap plastic ring from the chewing gum machine. He grinned at Kurt and said, "Oh, no. Definitely not."

"Good," Kurt said.

"And I'll try not to mix you up with Finn again. Should I meet him in the dark. You know. Naked. All alone. In desperate need of consolation -"

"Shut up." Kurt hit his side with his elbow.

Sam took his hand, warm and dry and comfortable in his own, and thought, he sort of preferred Kurt anyway. But maybe he'd wait a while to tell him that. There was always time for grand declarations, later.

 

\- - - - -  
The End.  
(For now. :))

\- - - - -


End file.
